
PICTURE! BY 


ELEANOR 


MUSSEY YOUNG 










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BILLY CORY 



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From around a tree trunk he watched 








BILLY CORY 

ADVENTURER 

BY 

PATTEN BEARD 



ILLUSTRATED BY 

ELEANOR MUSSEY YOUNG 


JUNIOR PRESS BOOKS 

alberTXwhitman 
& 4-co 

CHICAGO 

1936 


Z. 3 


Copyright, 1936, by 
Albert Whitman & Company 


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Printed in the U.S.A. 

NOV -4 1936 

©a A 


100312 C 

\ 







TABLE OF CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Wrong Bag.15 

The Rumble Seat.39 

Billy and a Castle.60 

Billy and the Gypsies.82 

A Stolen Car.101 

A Mysterious Paper.120 

Billy Has a Hobby.134 

A Birthday .144 

A Lost Treasure.158 

7 



















LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

From around a tree trunk he watched ....Frontispiece 


After the supper, the Treasure Chest was 

auctioned . 14 

“Kingston Point Landing! Kings-ton Point!”.21 

In his hurry, he stumbled and fell flat!. 35 

Billy ran and got a drink.— 47 

Billy pretended to dance with him. 57 

It was a real castle. 67 

“Think of the things we could do,” said Laverne 75 

It was a gypsy wagon. 85 

They lifted it out together. 95 

Tony had arranged the dish as only an artist 

would .167 

There stood Uncle Will’s nice new car.115 


9 


















List op Illustrations ( Continued ) 


He threw himself down upon the couch.125 

His hand met the feel of a slip of paper.131 

He lost no time in buying his treasure.139 

At a pet shop she stopped to examine puppies....149 
Shorty tied an apron around Billy’s waist.163 



10 




























TO 

Peter Merrill Knapp 


11 















ACKNOWLEDGMENT 


Parts of this book have appeared in Child Life Magazine. The 
author wishes to express her thanks for permission to reprint them 
here. 

Acknowledgment is also given to What to Do for permission to 
reprint “The Mysterious Paper” and “Billy Has a Hobby.” 























































































































































After the supper , the Treasure Chest was auctioned 












THE WRONG BAG 

“Good-bye, Dad. It’s fun to be going off 
on a trip all alone,” said Billy as the taxi 
stopped on the wharf of the West 42nd Street 
landing for the Hudson boat. “It’s an awful¬ 
ly good-looking bag you got me! Too bad 
it’s got that little scratch on it!” 

“It may have more later when you’re a 
more experienced traveler,” Dad replied. 
“Check it as soon as you go on board. Follow 
the crowd. And remember—William Benson 
Cory! Don’t you forget and leave that bag 
anywhere! When Mother packed it last night, 
I put some very important papers into it for 
you to carry up to Uncle. They can’t be du- 

15 



plicated and they are worth a great deal. You 
have the key of the bag and it’s locked, so 
they are safe, but you must hang on tight to 
the bag and not leave it, except to check it.” 

Billy nodded gravely. “I will,” he prom¬ 
ised. “It was good of you, Dad, to let me 
take this trip all on my own. Say, can you 
imagine me put under the care of the ship’s 
officer the way Mother wanted to do? Me— 
twelve years old, Dad? I guess I know how 
to take care of myself, even if I never went 
this way before or saw Uncle’s camp!” 

They were waiting now for the gangplank 
to be put in place. The crowd was thick 
around them, until the boat came in. 

“Your uncle will meet you at Hurley,” re¬ 
peated Father. “I’ve telegraphed him. If you 
should get into any mix-up, Billy, go to a 
man in uniform. You have the written direc¬ 
tions—get off at Kingston Point and board 
the train there for West Hurley.” 

Billy grinned. “I know,” he declared. “I’ll 
telegraph you from Hurley. You and Mother 
will get it tonight, long before you’re through 
packing to leave for Rangely tomorrow!” 

After Dad’s good-bye, Billy found himself 
among tourists, golf bags, tennis rackets, 
cameras, lunch packages, umbrellas, folded 
gocarts, hat boxes, and suitcases of all de- 
16 


scriptions. So thick was the crowd around 
the checking window that Billy could scarcely 
budge. The man in front of him bent down 
and placed his bag on the deck. Billy fol¬ 
lowed suit. It seemed everybody was doing it 
—it was useless to stand holding the bag. 

The man ahead was tall, very tall. He 
wore a soft hat and a tweed suit. Billy was 
sure he had seen him somewhere. Yes, it was 
that villain in the movie he and Dad had been 
to see last night. Only the man wasn’t that 
man—he somehow just looked like him! The 
line moved up. It kept slowly edging toward 
the window and Billy kept kicking his bag 
along. At least he thought it was his bag till 
that man ahead bent down and took up his 
bag. It looked exactly like Billy’s, even to 
that scratch! 

Billy was about to exclaim when he 
grabbed for the bag at his feet and saw that 
it was just like the stranger’s. They must 
both have come from the same store. But 
on the one Billy hoisted toward the window, 
he could not see the familiar scratch. 

“Say,” he said to the clerk. “Guess that 
man and I got our bags mixed. Mine had a 
scratch on it!” 

The baggage man did not even hear him. 

“Next!” he said. 


17 


There was nothing to do but move along. 
Perhaps, after all, he had been mistaken. The 
bags might have become mixed on the floor 
—but it wasn’t likely. He was troubled, as 
he watched the landing at 125th Street. He 
wondered whether he ought to do anything 
about it. In the meanwhile, he made a tour 
of the boat that left nothing undiscovered. 

From lower deck to upper, Billy took in all 
there was to see—the enclosed glass space at 
the center of the boat, where pistons rose and 
fell in swishing green river water, and the 
rack of souvenirs and picture postals (where 
he bought several to send back to Mother and 
Dad). They were going to Rangely tomor¬ 
row with the Van Alstens; that was why 
Billy had been sent up to his uncle’s camp in 
the Catskills. Uncle hadn’t answered Dad’s 
telegram but he was always at his studio 
working; besides he had just written Dad to 
send on those papers, registered mail, so they 
knew he must be there. Billy, himself, was 
taking the papers, and he felt very experi¬ 
enced and self-reliant as he pocketed ship’s 
stationery for future use and made a third 
trip to the counter where chocolate bars were 
for sale. 

He didn’t want to think of that bag. It 
made him uneasy. The more he thought, the 

18 


more uneasy he became. He wanted to talk 
to somebody. He was lonely. But everyone 
was in a party, it seemed. And soda-pop in 
bottles, sandwiches, broiled chicken, and 
bananas began to appear on deck, for it was 
lunch hour. He drifted to the upper deck and 
hunted for a patch of shade. 

He discovered a solitary camp chair on the 
rear end of the deck. He sat down and pre¬ 
tended to be interested in West Point fast 
disappearing into the landscape. 

The men on the other side were talking. 
Bits of their talk drifted toward Billy, and 
though he was not curious, he could not help 
but overhear. They were talking about some¬ 
body called Bracket. And it was evident that 
one of the men disliked him dreadfully—he 
could say nothing good about him; he simply 
had no use for him at all! 

In the discussion, Billy couldn’t understand 
everything. He remembered the movie he 
and Dad had been to see last night as a part¬ 
ing bit of fun together. In it, there was that 
villain who didn’t like somebody—and the 
hero had overheard a conversation, just like 
Billy here! 

Being a hero, he had warned the man and 
prevented trouble, and Billy began to imag¬ 
ine himself in the role of hero, warning 

19 


Bracket. But as Bracket would have to be 
told what the villain looked like, Billy peeked 
around the camp chairs stacked up to make 
the shade—and whom should he see but the 
very man who had checked the bag- so like 
his very own? He jumped to his feet. “Your 
bag didn’t have any scratch on it,” he cried. 
“It got mixed up with mine—I know it did! 
I want the one that belonged to me—” 

But the men were getting up and moving 
away rapidly and they only looked at Billy 
as if they thought he was a joke. 

“What’s the matter with that boy?” one 
of them exclaimed. 

It made Billy feel very young indeed. He 
ran after them—but he could not catch them. 
Where they went to, he could not see. He 
tried to find them, more positive every mo¬ 
ment that the bags were mixed up, thinking 
maybe they were after those papers with 
which Dad had trusted him! He hunted ev¬ 
erywhere—he could not find those men, but 
a blue-uniformed officer was calling through 
a megaphone, Kingston Point Landing! 
Kings-ton Point! All-off-for-Catskills and 
points west! Get your baggage!” 

It was Billy’s landing! 

Well, he would go down and get the bag 
and look it over and see if it was a mistake. 

20 






































He knew he should have done that before, 
only he’d been too busy pretending to be a 
“hero” like the man in the movies and his 
sense had deserted him in make-believe. 

“Why was I such a goose?” he said to him¬ 
self. When he had given in his check, the 
new and shining bag that was given him was 
wot his! It did not open to his key! 

He tried to get back to the window, but he 
couldn’t! Besides, the gangplank was being 
hoisted, and right by the rope stood the man 
with the bag that belonged to Billy. 

Billy managed to wiggle and squeeze past 
the persons in line, for he had to catch that 
man and show him that he didn’t have the 
right bag! He had to confront him with it 
and yell maybe for an officer! 

At last he was on the gangplank. The man 
was but a few steps ahead—and then, as luck 
would have it, up came two baggage men 
with a truck, heading straight for Billy. Some 
one pulled him out of the way and held him. 
He could see the two men ahead get into a 
blue sedan and slam the door. There was a 
second while they waited— 

“Let me go,” squealed Billy. “Somebody’s 
got my bag!” But it was too late—they had 
gone! 

There was nothing else to do but get into 
22 


the waiting" train for West Hurley; the con¬ 
ductor asked him if he had lost his party. 
When he explained about the bag, the con¬ 
ductor said, “Well, you’ll get it again; they’ll 
find your address inside. They don’t want 
your bag, son; they want their own!” 

Since he was so positive about it, Billy 
could say nothing. He got onto the train mis¬ 
erably. His uncle would have to fix it up. 

At West Hurley, the conductor saw him off 
the train with the bag, but his uncle had not 
yet come. Billy sat on the platform’s rim, 
kicking the gravel and waiting impatiently. 
A bus marked Woodstock chugged and went 
off, and a series of cars with passengers and 
baggage followed. There was nobody left 
but the station master who came over. 

Billy explained that he was waiting until 
someone came for him. 

But time went on and his uncle did not 
come. When Billy asked if he could get a 
taxi, the station master laughed. “No, sir,” 
he grinned, “not today. Today’s the big 
Maverick Day! What, don’t you know about 
Maverick? The artist colony gets it up every 
year in August; everybody goes in fancy 
rigs. They have an outdoor play and suppers 
around bonfires, and a dance in the evening. 
You ought to see it some day, son!” 

23 


“I’d like to,” said Billy. “But I don’t know 
if my uncle will take me. Oh, I ’most forgot. 
I have to telegraph.” 

He did. And the station master began to 
close up. He didn’t know just what he was 
going to do about Billy, since there were no 
cars to be had, but just then, around the 
curve of road there came a blue sedan like 
the one that man had got into at Kingston 
Point! Billy rushed out upon the platform 
to see it. 

It was not, however, the man with Billy’s 
bag; it was a young artist in masquerade! 
He had come to send off an express package 
of a magazine cover to a well-known maga¬ 
zine. The station master knew him; it de¬ 
veloped that he was G. G. Whatell and that if 
Billy didn’t know about him, he ought to! 
Anyhow, he was friendly and concerned. 
“Well, you are in a fix, kid,” he said. “I’m 
going your way and I’ll give you a lift, but 
I’ll have to take you along to Maverick with 
me. I’ll take you to your uncle after supper 
and I’ll take you right along—hop in!” 

It seemed the only thing to do, since there 
was a chance that his uncle might not have 
come down the mountain for his mail. Mail 
was held at the store and telegrams, Billy 
learned, were also held at the store till called 

24 


for, as it was too far up the mountain to de¬ 
liver and his uncle had no phone! 

It was good to be on the way and fun to be 
going to see the sights of that jolly show of 
Maverick! It was fun to be driving along 
with a pirate that looked exactly as if he had 
stepped out of Billy’s copy of “Treasure 
Island.” Billy confided to the friendly pirate 
all about that bag. It came about naturally, 
since the pirate had offered to open Billy’s 
bag and fix him up a costume, but of course, 
Billy couldn’t get the bag open. 

“Funny thing is,” declared Billy, “their car 
was just the same model as this. I’d know 
those men anywhere, if I should see them.” 

A loud honking interrupted him. He looked 
back as the car at their rear shot past. It was 
a blue sedan going at a great rate. Billy 
screamed, “Stop! Stop!” But it paid no at¬ 
tention. “Get ’em,” he yelled. “That’s the 
car, and they’ve got my bag with those pa¬ 
pers!” 

The blue sedan disappeared around a 
curve, even though Mr. Whatell was quick. 
As they turned the curve of road, out upon 
the narrow highway came an oxcart from a 
meadow. It had the right of way and they 
could not pass it, for it was too large! When, 
at last, the oxcart left the highway clear, 
25 


there was not a trace of that blue sedan in 
sight! 

At the place where two roads met, going 
around Ashokan, one couldn’t tell which way 
the blue sedan had taken. G. G. Whatell was 
a little inclined to laugh at Billy, when Billy 
got out and looked at the tracks on the road. 
There was nothing to be told from them, so 
he crawled back into the car. “Oh, blame that 
oxcart,” he muttered. “We might as well 
give it up; you’ve got to go to Maverick, 
haven’t you?” 

“I have,” replied the artist. “I have to auc¬ 
tion off a joke—it’s a treasure chest. And I 
have to join my group of friends who are all 
dressed up as I am like pirates. Different 
groups, you know, carry out different ideas. 
We’ll fix you up in some sort of rig—you’d 
make a Young Pan all right! Would you 
like to pose for me while you’re up here?” 

He chatted on, trying to divert Billy. He 
and Billy’s uncle had studied under the same 
master once, but they didn’t know each other 
very well. He knew where his studio was and, 
occasionally, he ran across him. 

“Maybe I can get word to him about you 
when we get to Maverick,” he said. “You’ll 
stick by me and we’ll have supper with the 
crowd. Afterwards, I have to help dress 
26 


some of the players for the open-air perform¬ 
ance. I’ll show you where to find the car and 
you’ll have to trot over to it and get in and 
wait till I come. It’ll be dark, so you’d better 
observe everything carefully—I’ll park near 
some bush or tree you can tell in the dark. 
Wish I had an extra searchlight but I need 
mine! You’ve a quick eye, Young Pan! You’ll 
find the car all right.” 

Maverick was, it appeared, a lovely section 
of wooded mountainside, approached by a 
narrow entrance road. There a man, dressed 
as a highwayman, held up the car. “Hello, 
Bill Bones!” he cried. “Fork up fifty cents 
for the passenger you have who isn’t in fan¬ 
cy dress! Everybody not in costume must 
pay!” 

The car halted slowly. “I will not be held 
up!” retorted the artist, laughing. “Bang! 
Can’t you see he is in masquerade—he’s a 
Regular Fellow. And he’s going to be Young 
Pan. I’m planning to paint him on a maga¬ 
zine cover—you’ll see!” 

He honked loudly. 

“Go along with you,” cried the highway¬ 
man. “You’re a clever one, but you could 
afford fifty cents!” He let them pass and 
G. G. Whatell chuckled and shot forward. 

Going along that mountain road they be- 
27 


gan to meet revelers. It was like a picture- 
book, only one never would meet so many 
different kinds of pictures all in one story! 
A van of gypsies in an old cart rattled along, 
and a picturesque gypsy followed on horse¬ 
back. 

Then came an Oriental dancer with a green 
snake made from a silk stocking. A wild, 
half-clad African savage stood holding a tall 
shield and bowed to Whatell as the car passed 
him. Hawaiian musicians waved and greeted 
him as a friend. Mary, with her little white 
woolly lamb tied to a blue ribbon, lifted her 
crook. “I know you!” she called. “Know 
you anywhere!” 

Here came a Chinese—there, a group of 
Indians. A prairie schooner rolled by; bull¬ 
fighters and Spanish ladies followed! Billy’s 
eyes were wide and round like his mouth; he 
was having a grand time. He had already 
forgotten about his uncle, the bag, and the 
blue sedan. It was like Hollywood, and he 
decided to stick tight to G. G. Whatell, for 
there were lots of other pirates and— 

“Hello!” another pirate called, and he 
found himself in the midst of G. G. Whatell’s 
group. He explained Billy, and then he fin¬ 
ished parking in the big meadow that was 
the parking ground. 


28 


“See,” he said to Billy. “We’re right here 
by this queer tree. You can see that by moon¬ 
light when you come down; you won’t be able 
to see the license number in the dark. But 
you’ll know the car, and the bag will be in 
it.” 

“Sure,” Billy answered. Then they went 
off to a studio nearby and G. G. Whatell 
found a curly white sheepskin rug. They 
made Billy take off his coat and things, even 
stockings, and with big blanket-pins, G. G. 
Whatell pinned the woolly rug tight around 
Billy so it could not come off. It scratched, 
but he didn’t mind. He liked being fixed up 
in a costume like young Pan. Pan was the 
Greek deity of out-of-doors, he recalled, as 
he thought of the Greek myths his mother 
had read aloud. He wished she could see 
him now. 

Somebody gave him a little tin flute to 
play, the kind that doesn’t make much noise. 
Somebody else put a wreath of grapevine 
around his curly head. They led him away 
toward the place where the smoke of bonfires 
and outdoor suppers was rising in the dusk 
of the woodland setting! It was corking fun! 
It was fun to go barefoot, too! 

The Hawaiians strummed a melody, and 
Billy picked his way about, gathering sticks 
29 


of firewood while his pirate band made sup¬ 
per ready. Occasionally, he heard somebody 
exclaim how beautiful he was—and then he 
felt rather funny and looked sheepish. “Me, 
beautiful,” he snorted to himself. “Oh, gee!” 

After the supper, the Treasure Chest was 
auctioned. It was some joke that Billy didn’t 
quite understand, but it was fun. Everybody 
was full of jokes, and he was sorry when 
G. G. Whatell told him to “trot!” It was get¬ 
ting dark. They were getting ready for the 
play in the theatre beyond the high palings, 
and G. G. Whatell had to help. Billy had to 
go find the car and wait. Maverick was over 
for him—almost! 

Slowly, he walked toward the car down the 
road that was so red and dusty. There were 
big busses there now, with great beetling 
eyes in the dark—long lights wavering from 
them as they backed and snorted. Every¬ 
where gay revelers were going toward the 
theatre, and soon the road began to be de¬ 
serted. The candy stand was closed. Nobody 
was around at all! And as Billy went down 
the little hill, he saw the weird shapes of cars 
like great black shadows everywhere! He 
knew where his car ought to be, for there was 
the queer tree! He opened a car door—in 
it was a hamper full of picnic dishes! He 
30 


tried the next. It was locked. He looked 
about—maybe it was the next! He opened 
the door in the dark and felt for the bag, and 
his hand met the familiar feel of its handle. 
He climbed in and covered himself with a rug 
that was on the back seat. He was cold. 

The strumming of far-away orchestral in¬ 
struments came to him, and then the orches¬ 
tra broke into melody. Billy wished he was 
there seeing the play, but now, he knew, the 
artist would be coming soon to take him up 
to his uncle’s. He hoped his uncle did know 
he was on the way, but Mr. Whatell prob¬ 
ably had phoned him. He drowsed, waiting, 
until the music and the comfort of the big 
back seat of the car put him to sleep. 

Then suddenly voices roused him. He 
thought at first it was Whatell coming, and 
he hid under the rug. It would be fun to cry, 
“Heyoo” and surprise his new friend. 

But it was not the artist who came! It was 
the two men—the very same ones whom Billy 
had overheard on the boat that very day— 
the ones who had gone off with his bag! 

He made himself quite flat against the 
seat, covered with the dark rug. The door 
of the car opened near the wheel. One man 
got in, and started the car. “Good night,” 
he called. “I’m going after Bracket now!” 

31 


Billy felt suddenly very frightened and 
cold. It dawned on him then; he wasn’t in 
G. G. WhatelFs car. The villain must have 
parked his car after they had parked, prob¬ 
ably close by! If that was so—then the bag 
that was on the floor of the car was the very 
bag Dad had handed him! It was his! And, 
here he was, like a real hero—with every 
likelihood of warning poor Bracket, if he 
kept his wits about him! 

Anyway, if he couldn’t warn Bracket, he 
could wait till the car slowed down, then 
grab his bag and run for the woods and hide 
—and get back to G. G. Whatell at Maverick! 
He was sure he had not been discovered. 

The sedan passed over the rough road with 
some bumps. Billy wished it would stop 
short to let something pass, but it did not. 
He had to wait, clinging hard to the handle 
of the bag, making himself as small as pos¬ 
sible on the floor of the car. 

The man hummed some of the music Billy 
had heard the orchestra play. But he didn’t 
drive fast. He seemed occupied with his 
thoughts. Once, he slowed down and lit a 
cigar, but there was no chance for Billy to 
make his get-away! The car went on. At 
last, Billy knew it was the state road, for the 
going became smooth. As he peered from 
32 


under the dark rug, he could see shapes of 
tall trees on either side of the roadway. 

The car slowed down again, but this time, 
evidently, something had occasioned the 
quick application of the brakes. 

From out there in the dark road came a 
loud voice. “Halt,” it cried. “I am Black- 
ballem, the highwayman!” A shot rang out! 

In the dark, a horse pirouetted around the 
automobile and on it Billy could see the shad¬ 
owy figure of a highwayman—it was Billy’s 
chance to creep out while the owner of the 
car was being searched, of course. Billy 
thought he could make it, unobserved—then 
dash back to Maverick, with his bag. 

He was so occupied edging toward the door 
that he missed what the men were saying. 
Perhaps somebody was trying to play a joke 
—he couldn’t tell. 

Softly, he felt for the handle of the car’s 
door. It was the side near the bushes. The 
mep were out there in the road. He couldn’t 
hear what they said, but he thought that one 
of them must be angry. 

Carefully, he placed a bare foot on the 
running board. The carriage rug would be 
a good thing to take with him in case he had 
to sleep in the woods, so he dragged it after 
him, holding tight to his precious bag. Then 
33 


something caught! In his hurry, he stumbled 
and fell flat! The bag made a big bump and 
Billy a loud falling thud! 

The two men came running. The horse, 
evidently, was tied to a tree. Billy’s venture 
had been nipped in the bud, for somebody 
caught hold of him! 

“Didn’t know you had a passenger!” the 
highwayman cried. 

The man who was driving the car muttered 
something. “Here, you!” he exclaimed. 
“What are you doing with my bag?” He 
picked the bag from the roadway and held it, 
looking down at Billy in the dark. 

“It’s my bag,” retorted Billy manfully. 

“It is not!” 

“It’s mine, really,” remarked the highway¬ 
man with a stage laugh! “Joke’s on you, 
Famous Dramatist! A good situation for a 
comedy, staged on the state road, Wood- 
stock!” 

“Be quiet,” roared the other man. “Enough 
of practical joking. He was the real thing— 
after my bag, too!” 

“It’s mine,” Billy insisted, shivering. He 
tried to get hold of the bag. He was pushed 
away. 

The highwayman roared in amusement. 
He was the same one who had taken the 
34 



In his hurry, he stumbled and fell flat! 


35 







































































tickets at Maverick entrance and, evidently, 
he had been trying to play a practical joke, 
for fun! He knew the man Billy had been 
with in the sedan. They were really friends. 

“Explain yourself!” It was the highway¬ 
man. “Aren’t you the boy that Mr. Whatell 
was going to paint as Young Pan? It looks 
as if he dressed you up!” 

“He did,” Billy replied, glad to be recog¬ 
nized in the flare of a flash light. “And I 
thought I was in his car waiting for him— 
only I got into the wrong car and got car¬ 
ried—” 

“Why did you attempt to make off with 
the bag that was not yours? Why claim it, 
Pan? Do you need to have somebody’s bag 
that is not yours, quoth I?” 

But Billy was in no mood for joking. “I’ll 
tell you all about it,” he said. “That^-that 
man there is—is going to do something to 
Bracket—he’s on his way now! You must 
stop him!” And he poured forth the full 
story of his bag and the pursuit of it. 

When he had finished, the highwayman 
could not stop laughing. The villain, too, 
roared. “Bracket,” he howled. “Boy, I’m 
writing a play—and he’s a character in my 
play! I’m going home now to revise my 
manuscript. It’s in my bag—and if this bag 
36 


proves, as you say, to be your bag, you will 
immediately have to account for my manu¬ 
script that’s locked in my own bag and that 
happens to be important stuff! I have no 
copy of my play but that!” 

He held the flash over Billy’s bag. The 
highwayman forced the lock. It broke open, 
showing Mother’s lovely lunch box right on 
top! Billy grabbed it. “Mine,” he yelled. 
“See—yours is back in G. G. Whatell’s car 
at Maverick!” 

The hero was triumphant! He crawled 
back into the car of the dramatist, holding 
tight to his bag. The car backed, the high¬ 
wayman called, “Good night!” and they sped 
back to Maverick in silence. Billy only re¬ 
marked that he was sorry he’d taken the man 
for a villain, and he told him about the movie 
he had seen. 

They found Mr. Whatell with a lot of other 
people on the parking ground hunting for 
Billy! One of them was his uncle whom Mr. 
Whatell had somehow managed to reach! 

The dramatist got his bag and shook hands 
with the hero, Billy. Mr. Whatell invited 
Billy to pose for him next day. His uncle said, 
“Where did you put his suit, Whatell?” 

And Whatell said he’d bring it up next day. 

“I’ve got enough in my bag without it,” 
37 


said Billy. “I like going without shoes—I do. 
Uncle!” 

“Well, Nephew,” returned his uncle, look¬ 
ing down at Billy sitting beside him on the 
front seat of the car and still wrapped in his 
woolly rug. “I should not call you exactly a 
goat, and I’m glad the papers are quite safer 

“I said they would be,” answered Billy with 
dignity. “Even a hero in a movie couldn’t 
have done better than I did!” 

“Sure, Billy,” said his uncle. “You were a 
real hero—it takes a boy to get into such a 
scrape and get out of it the way you did 
We’ll have to write Dad tomorrow!” 

‘Tell him ‘Billy and bag safe’!” suggestec 
Billy. “And tell him you found me at the 
end of a perfect day—and my picture is go¬ 
ing to be on a magazine cover sometime!’ 

And together, the two grinned as the cai 
sped toward Uncle’s camp. 



I-- 






THE RUMBLE SEAT 

Just before his annual camp-sehool Billy 
went to visit Aunt Prescott. She lived out in 
California but the trip in Dad’s automobile, 
known as the “Old Ark,” had been unevent¬ 
ful. Mother and Dad had come along, but 
they left him for the time in Aunt Prescott’s 
care. 

Billy was lonely. The only thing he could 
think of to do was to pretend that he was 
practicing for the movies. Right there in 
California, he felt qualified to be a boy star. 

39 


“Look, look! Watch me!” Billy Gory waved 
to his aunt. She was coming down the path 
of stepping stones toward the famous lily 
pool in her beautiful garden. She had a bas¬ 
ket of roses, just gathered, on her arm. 

“Look,” he cried and he turned upon the 
soft velvet of the lawn to make a running 
jump, leaping clear over the width of the lily 
pool where the Japanese goldfish were. 
“Want to see me do it again?” he inquired 
with a grin. 

Aunt Prescott rested the garden basket on 
the stone bench. “No, Billy,” she replied. “It 
isn’t quite safe. You might slip and go in. 
And you or the lilies or the goldfish might 
get broken.” 

He laughed. “Aw!” he said, “/wouldn’t. I 
can do lots of stunts—want to see me walk on 
my hands or—or turn double somersaults? I 
can juggle balls too!” 

But Aunt Prescott shook her head. “Not 
now,” she returned. “You see, Billy, I have to 
arrange these flowers and then I have to 
dress. I’m going out to lunch this noon with 
the Van Stines. 

“It must be very dull for you with nobody 
to play with. I’m sorry I don’t know any 
boys, but you’ll be going to camp in two 
weeks, you know, and after that, why you’ll 
40 


be home again and Mother and Dad will 
want to find you well and whole when they 
get back from their trip. So just look out— 
and don’t do any risky stunts.” 

“It would be nice to have something to do,” 
said Billy. “It is lonely. But I can play in the 
tool house, can’t I? If I had a motion-picture 
machine, I’d give movies there and post a 
notice at the General Store—and if I had a 
motion-picture camera, I could go right into 
the business and get a crowd together and—” 

But here he was cut short, for a very large 
young man had suddenly appeared from the 
other side of the boxhedge and was lifting 
his hat to Aunt Prescott. 

Billy started to disappear. But Aunt Pres¬ 
cott called to him. “Billy,” she exclaimed, 
“here’s somebody I want you to meet—some¬ 
body who really writes movies! You know,” 
she said, to the large young man, “Billy is 
wild about the movies, Mr. Twain. You and 
he would be most congenial.” She laughed. 

“And just now,” she said, “he has nobody 
to play with. He’s just come to stay with me 
till camp opens and I don’t happen to know 
any boys!” 

“I’m a boy.” Mr. Twain beamed as he shook 
hands. “I may be older than you but would 
you like to go off with me while your aunt is 
41 


away? I’m going to ran over to Adolph Zeig- 
ler’s—the big movie director’s place in Ba¬ 
kersfield. I’ve a friend with me and the only 
seat vacant is the ramble. We might not be 
much company—” he hesitated. “But per¬ 
haps you’d like the ride. It’s over the moun¬ 
tains—” 

“A long ride,” said Aunt Prescott. “When 
would you be back?” She looked at Billy 
questioningly. “You see,” she said, “he must 
be back here by three-thirty. We have an 
appointment with the head of the camp down 
at Blue Lake.” 

“That’s so,” said Billy. That had to be. 

But the stout young man grinned at Billy 
and understood. “Well, I think you can count 
on his getting back in time, Miss Prescott,” 
he said. “You can depend on him, if he gives 
his word, I’ll wager. And I’ve got the best 
little sport model that there is. I’m taking 
over a script to Ziegler—I hope he’ll take it. 
Ben Nealy—you know him—he’s going with 
me; we have to talk things over en route. 
We’ve collaborated. You don’t mind sitting 
on the rumble seat and keeping quiet, do 
you?” he asked of Billy. “It’s a grand ride 
over the mountains! And you’ll see lots of 
the country—pretty wild country, too! I’ve 
never been over that way before and I don’t 
42 


know the road, but 1 guess we won’t get lost 
—quite! Be back by three-thirty anyhow.” 
He laughed. 

That was how the adventure started—just 
like an everyday affair with Billy rushing 
back to the house for his sweater to carry 
along! 

The little sport model was waiting at Aunt 
Prescott’s drive near the house. It was a 
lovely soft yellow with a tan hood. Billy 
scrambled into the rumble seat with his 
sweater, resolving, as Aunt Prescott had 
whispered to him at the last, to be good and 
not chatter or ask too many questions. 

“They want to talk, Billy,” she had said. 
“You keep quiet back there in your seat— 
it’s very nice of them to take you. I think 
you’ll want to remember that they’re going 
on business and have things to discuss on 
the way.” 

“Oh, I won’t bother them,” declared Billy 
and he had rushed off with the sweater. 

So now, once introduced to the man who 
was Ben Nealy, Billy subsided on the rumble 
seat behind the high hood in which there 
was only a very small little window. He could 
hardly see Mr. Twain’s hatless head or hear 
the rumble of Mr. Ben Nealy’s deep voice. 
The engine purred. They were off! 

43 


It was ever so nice—ever so nice! And 
there was Billy who had in his secret heart 
that great ambition to become a movie man 
himself—there he was going—going—going 
—and every second was taking him toward a 
real movie director’s own summer place! 

Gee! It was luck! 

It’s such fun to rush over smooth roads, to 
pass lovely summer places, to see the fields, 
the woods; to hear the honk-honk of a gay 
little car, to be going up hills and over low- 
lying roads in the valley, places where the 
gay sport car went beside the river or rushed 
over a wooden bridge and played joyfully a 
passing game of tag with other cars! 

But by and by the country began to be less 
inhabited. Villages were far away. Even 
houses seemed to stop. Even upland pasture- 
lands gave way to wooded roads—usually un¬ 
traveled roads. 

The way grew steep up the mountain. No 
cars were passing either way. It was a wilder¬ 
ness of wooded mountain and desolate of 
habitation. Once in a while, there came love¬ 
ly vistas of landscape, but for the most part 
the narrow rough road lay over steep up- 
climbs. 

Once, on a downward grade, at the foot of 
some high place in the woods, Mr. Twain and 


44 


Ben Nealy got into a discussion over the road. 
Ben Nealy insisted on going one way—at 
some junction place—and Mr. Twain de¬ 
clared, “No, no.” They seemed to have quite 
a time over it. They got out and tried to see 
where things went to, but there was no guide- 
post at all. 

Mr. Twain said, “Oh, follow our noses!” 
And he faced the way he wanted to go. And 
Ben Nealy faced the other and asked, “Which 
nose?” 

Billy chuckled but he was keeping quiet 
and it was none of his business anyhow. He 
remembered his word at parting from Aunt 
Prescott. 

They kept right on discussing. And then 
they flipped a penny and decided it. 

Ben Nealy said, “Well, we’ll come to an¬ 
other road some time and then we’ll know 
where we’re headed.” 

And Mr. Twain said, “Sure! You’ll see I 
was right—when in doubt, I always take the 
right turning!” And they laughed at the 
joke, though it wasn’t much to laugh at. 

For a time, they went on. There was no 
turning. 

The road was narrow and red of soil. The 
woods were wild. At the sides of the road 
were high banks where lovely ferns grew. 

45 


And the earth was sandy and red. Once Billy 
caught sight of a little bright red lizard scam¬ 
pering in his funny lizard way into the shel¬ 
ter of some stones and fern. 

There was a spring where Mr. Twain got 
out and scooped up a drink from mossy 
stones. They had evidently almost forgotten 
about Billy on the rumble seat till Mr. Twain 
started to come back from the spring and 
then he sang out, “You thirsty back there?” 

And Billy jumped down and ran and put 
his hands into the spring and got a drink. 
He wished he’d see a red lizard, so that he 
could catch it. He could take it back to Aunty 
to put in her rock garden—much nicer than 
Japanese goldfish! But there was no lizard 
and he had to scramble back into the rumble. 

“We’re lost,” Mr. Twain called back to him. 
“But we’ll soon find the right road—fun not 
to know what’s what—something like an 
adventure!” 

“Yes, I like adventures,” squealed Billy, 
but his voice was lost in the gear-shifting. 
Up and up they went. Then down, down they 
went. And mountains loomed high above 
them. Red road. More little red lizards! 

Then came a crossroads! 

It came in the thick of a ferny wilderness 
of woods that was like a forest. The car 


46 



Billy ran and got a drink 
47 



















halted. Ben Nealy leaped out on one side and 
Mr. Twain on the other—they were off a 
hundred yards or so to see if they could find 
traces of any fallen guidepost. 

Billy sat for an instant in the rumble. And 
then he had a bright idea. It was “Lizards!” 
He would have time to catch one—maybe 
two! 

On the side of the car nearest to the bank, 
he slipped down to the road in a twinkling. 
His handkerchief, thrust into his sweater 
pocket at leaving, was just the thing! Flip 
it over a lizard and there he was! 

But the lizard that Bill saw led him a chase. 
And the chase went up the bank and into the 
dark depths of ferns and woods. And then 
he saw two lizards near each other and made 
for them. And just as the handkerchief de¬ 
scended—already rather the worse for red 
earth—it actually caught the two red lizards! 

And then, at that very moment, a most aw¬ 
ful sound came to Billy’s horrified ears! It 
was the sound of the little car rushing off as 
hard as it could go! 

“Mr. Twain, Mr. Twain,” yelled Billy. But 
it did no good. The two had finally found out 
about the road. Thinking of that, they had 
not once remembered Billy—and if they had, 
they thought, of course, he was on the rumble 
48 


seat. They hadn’t seen him get off to catch 
lizards. 

Why had he done it? 

And they’d not think of him again, prob¬ 
ably, till they got to Bakersfield to Mr. Zeig- 
ler’s! And how was Billy to get home and be 
there, as he said he would, at three-thirty? 
And how about making Mr. Twain upset over 
losing his passenger and worrying Aunt 
Prescott, which was the worst thing of all? 

There was one thing to do: get home and 
then phone Mr. Twain at Mr. Zeigler’s. But 
that wasn’t easy. Gee! How could one do it 
—it was miles and miles, and there were no 
houses or anything like a railway! Nothing 
but forest—forest, ferns and red lizards— 
and silence! 

There was not a sound now. He couldn’t 
even tell where the sport car had gone. 

When he reached the crossroads there was 
no trace of the car’s wheels. Nor was there 
any guidepost to be found. Maybe Mr. Twain 
was still wondering about the road and was 
lost too. But anyhow, he hadn’t missed Billy. 

Billy looked at each road. It was safe to 
take the right, as Mr. Twain’s preference 
was for that. Yet maybe they had gone on 
the other, as Mr. Nealy wanted always to go 
to the left! It was a puzzle! 

49 


So Billy put a hand into the pocket where 
he had exactly thirteen cents, and tossed a 
coin. It had an Indian head on it. It went 
“heads,” too. That was for “right.” 

Up that road and down that road he went 
for a long distance. But he came to nothing. 
It was just woods. The two red lizards in his 
pocket handkerchief wiggled a lot. He won¬ 
dered if he’d ever get them back home safe 
to Aunt Prescott’s lovely summer estate with 
the rock garden and the famous lily pool. 
He’d have to—somehow—so on he went. If 
you keep going, you get somewhere—some¬ 
time! 

It was discouraging, though. 

But Billy was a sport. He didn’t cry. He 
felt a bit like it once when the car had gone 
off and left him. But afterwards, he knew it 
was an adventure—a real one written with 
big letters too! 

If you meet with adventure, you have to 
win; it means being a real hero. And Billy 
meant to be one, though he felt quite small 
and even younger than he was—very small 
and rather lonesome, there in that still moun¬ 
tain in the black woods where things cracked 
once in a while—where once a red fox ran 
across the road—where— What was that? 

It was something coming! 

50 


Billy caught up a stone. It was his one de¬ 
fense. 

Then from out the bushes near another 
crossroads, there leaped the startled figure 
of another boy! He had been crying. He 
was only partly dressed with trousers and 
undervest. As he saw Billy, he started to 
run away. 

“Don’t go! Don’t go!” screamed Billy. He 
wanted to ask his way—there were lots of 
things that boy could tell him. 

But the boy wouldn’t stop. 

“Wait! Wait!” cried Billy. “Oh, wait!” 

But the other boy darted up the bank again. 
There he turned. “I don’t dare,” he said. 
“They’ll catch me! I don’t want them to! 
And if you don’t get out of the road this min¬ 
ute, they’ll run right over you —” He ges¬ 
ticulated wildly. “Get out of the road,” he 
cried. “Get out,” he screamed, “quick! Don’t 
you know the Indians are coming?” 

And he darted off into the deep woods 
again. 

“Indians!” ejaculated Billy Cory. But he 
had no time to say more. Around the curve 
of the road they came with a wild rush and 
as they reached the place where Billy had 
been standing, they set up a wild yelling that 
was simply beyond anything Billy Cory had 
51 


ever imagined Indians could do, even at their 
best! From around a tree trunk he watched, 
his eyes popping out in amazement. 

Nobody would have thought there were 
Indians in the woods nowadays. Indians had 
gone long ago except on reservations! But 
these were the kind he read about—the ones 
who lived in the old days. 

They looked neither to right nor left—they 
rushed yelling through the woods. 

They were gone! 

At least Billy thought so. He peeked from 
around the tree trunk to see what more there 
might be, and then he came face to face with 
one Indian who made a grab for him and 
caught hold of his blouse. Billy tried to free 
himself. But it was no use. 

“No, you don’t,” said the Indian in per¬ 
fectly clear everyday English. “I’ve got you 
now!” 

“You let me go! I’m lost. I’ve got to get 
home!” 

“Yes, you’re lost all right,” returned the 
Indian. “I’ll let go, if you promise to march 
straight ahead of me where you belong.” 

“I don’t belong to you,” snapped Billy. “I 
want to know my way home, I say.” 

“The way home is straight where you be¬ 
long,” growled the Indian, letting go with 
52 


one hand and brandishing a tomahawk with 
the other. “Now, young man— walk!” 

“I’ll do it because I have to,” returned 
Billy, “but it’s no fair. I only want to know 
the way home!” 

“I suppose you were going there when I 
caught you hiding.” 

“You didn’t catch me hiding!” 

“Oh, well, we’ll see about that when we get 
to the Chief!” 

There was nothing to do but just to go on 
Indian file with the Indian tramping behind 
with the tomahawk! Billy wasn’t going to be 
scared—this was adventure! And some way, 
he knew a hero—a real one—would escape 
and get home to Aunt Prescott, as he had 
promised, by three-thirty. He hoped the liz¬ 
ards were all right and not hurt in the pocket 
of his sweater. How he was going to get home 
seemed a problem. 

“You needn’t think you’ll get any chance 
to hide again,” said the Indian, giving Billy 
a punch. “Trot right on, son!” 

“I wasn’t hiding. I got lost out of an auto¬ 
mobile!” 

“You did, did you?” There was sarcasm in 
the tone. “Maybe you’ll be telling me soon 
you aren’t scared of any bear and that you 
never saw one, and were never asked to do 
53 


stunts in its enclosure!” The Indian laughed. 

“I wasn’t,” declared Billy. 

“Well, they’re looking everywhere for you 
anyhow,” said the Indian. 

“Mr. Twain and Mr. Nealy?” asked Billy 
hopefully. 

The Indian roared. “Mr. Twain and Mr. 
Nealy,” he repeated. “Mr. Zeigler is, and 
you know that well enough!” 

Billy stopped short and faced him. “Is it 
movies you are doing?” he squealed delight¬ 
edly. “I—I was going to Mr. Zeigler’s house 
with Mr. Twain and Mr. Nealy and I got lost 
off the rumble seat of their car. 1 did, and I’ll 
bet you got the wrong boy and are after the 
one that was crying back there in the woods. 1 
saw him!” It was all clear now—the Indians 
were making a picture the other side of the 
wood and, somehow, Billy had been taken 
for the boy who had some part he was run¬ 
ning away from — something about doing 
stunts with a bear! He laughed. “You don’t 
have to make me go,” he cried. “I want to 
see Mr. Zeigler; he’ll help me!” 

And then they came into a wide clearing. 
At one end was a man with a megaphone. 
Anybody’d know who he was—he was the 
big director, Adolph Zeigler! Gee! 

Billy raced for him. He rushed wildly past 
54 


a rough cabin surrounded by Indians. There 
were several motion picture men grinding 
away. They yelled at Billy to clear out. Some¬ 
body else grabbed him. But he got to Mr. 
Zeigler, as a hero should. “Mr. Twain and 
Mr. Nealy,” he panted, “they were on the 
way to see you, Mr. Zeigler. They were going 
to your house in Bakersfield—and they took 
me in the rumble—and I got lost off—and I 
promised my Aunt Prescott to be home at 
three-thirty, if she’d let me go with them— 
and I’m awfully afraid everybody is worried 
at not knowing where I am—” 

Mr. Zeigler looked his amazement. Then, 
“Stop,” he cried. “I wonder if you are a boy 
that is a coward—or not? We had one here 
to do a part—a part with a tame bear, and 
not even a bad bear! But we have him in the 
enclosure all wired in and that blamed boy 
we had to act the little Indian just wouldn’t 
go into the cage. He was a regular first-class 
coward of a boy —he won’t make a Junior 
Cooglan ever! You want to try, if I promise 
to send you home afterwards in a car? It’s 
a bargain and some money besides. Under¬ 
stand, son?” 

Billy just grinned. “Lead me to the bear,” 
he said. “I’d like to do it! Want me to do 
stunts too? Shall I do stunts? I can, you 
55 


know—I always wanted to be in a movie! 
Oh—what do you want me to do?” 

<r Get into the dress,” snapped Zeigler. 
“Then I’ll tell you. And I guess you’ll be all 
right and get home by three-thirty!” 

As he was being made up like a real boy 
Indian, he learned that his part had belonged 
to Budge Summers who was afraid of the 
bear. And everybody laughed at Budge 
Summers for it, too. The bear was a big one 
—but he wouldn’t hurt one. They all said it. 
But Billy was so excited, he didn’t really mind 
what kind of a bear it was or anything! 

They led him to the enclosure and put him 
in. It was a cage that was like the woods but 
wired in—that was all. And motion-picture 
men were in it. 

Mr. Zeigler told Billy what to do and ques¬ 
tioned him about stunts. And Billy told about 
the lily-pool and the somersaults and other 
of his accomplishments. He even demon¬ 
strated some. 

Mr. Zeigler was delighted. “At it, boy!” he 
cried. “You’re great! Your style is just 
great! You’re miles ahead of that other one. 
You make good and I’ll run you in another 
cast. I’m glad the other one went away! 
Wise boy to run away and find you!” 

Billy felt immensely proud! 

56 



































And, say—the bear was fine! He was the 
nicest sort! He could dance and he let Billy 
leap over him, too. The motion-picture cam¬ 
era men got it all—the handsprings Billy 
turned—the somersaults—and then Billy 
showed how much he liked that bear and pre¬ 
tended to dance with him till Mr. Zeigler said 
it was enough. Afterwards, though, he tried 
some other stunts like letting Billy pet the 
bear as if it were a big dog and sit on his 
back and put his hand in his mouth. The 
bear evidently liked Billy. They almost 
dragged Billy away from him! 

And when Billy came out of the cage, if 
there wasn’t Mr. Twain coming along 
through the woods and Mr. Nealy, too! Both 
looked rather worried, but their faces broke 
into smiles as they saw Billy’s rig. And how 
they did roar with laughter when they heard 
the story of his adventures. 

“Getting red lizards, indeed! Hope you’ve 
got ’em, son,” said Jo Zeigler. “Have you?” 
And when they looked, there they were in 
the sweater pocket in the mussed-up hand¬ 
kerchief! 

So then Mr. Zeigler wanted to have a pic¬ 
ture of them on Billy’s hand. They got the 
picture, but the lizards got away! 

As for the little sport car that was Mr. 

58 


Twain’s, it made no mistake as to the right 
road on the way home, and it went ever so 
fast—and Billy talked almost all the way, as 
they asked him no end of questions, and the 
two were lots of fun. 

Mr. Zeigler had said he would send a check, 
and the check was to go for a motion-picture 
camera—and maybe there might be another 
chance to act for Mr. Zeigler and another 
check before camp time came! 

It was all exciting. What fun to go back to 
Aunt Prescott and tell her how all Billy’s 
stunts were recorded in real motion pictures! 

They did get back at three-thirty—or 
maybe two minutes before, to be correct. 
Aunt was waiting for Billy with the car at 
the door. And when she heard about every¬ 
thing, she said, “Well, Billy, you are a hero! 
When I saw you jump over the round lily pool 
this morning, I felt sure you’d be a Douglas 
Fairbanks some day, but I didn’t imagine it 
was going to be so soon!” 

“You’re not sorry I didn’t bring the liz¬ 
ards?” asked Billy. 

She laughed and shook her head. “Gold¬ 
fishes are better,” said she. “The lizards 
might not have liked the rock garden any 
more than Budge liked the idea of the bear.” 

And Mr. Twain’s movie was accepted later. 

59 



BILLY AND A CASTLE 

After three weeks in camp Billy and his 
parents returned East in the Old Ark. 

Soon after their return its horn honked as 
it moved down the drive to the street; Dad 
was saying good-bye to Mother and Billy. He 
had to hurry to keep a business engagement 
with the man who had telephoned by long 
distance, and Billy’s usual Saturday after¬ 
noon drive with Mother and Dad was spoiled. 

60 









“What am I to do with myself all alone 
this whole afternoon?” Billy tried to look 
cross, but grinned instead. “You ought to 
bring me something pretty nice, Dad, after 
spoiling my holiday. The gang’s all gone 
away!” 

Dad looked sorry. “Maybe I’ll bring you 
a new auto—this year’s make!” he called 
back. “But I have to find the right kind of 
school property for my client. You can go 
look it up, if you want something to do. If 
you find anything, I’ll give you a ten-dollar 
bill!” Honk! Honk! He was gone. 

A long afternoon lay ahead of Billy. In the 
evening there was Granny’s birthday party, 
but there was nothing to do, now. After a 
week of downpours, the sky was clear, cloud¬ 
less, mild, and blue. The wind seemed in a 
hurry to reach far places. It was a day that 
made one long to go somewhere and do some¬ 
thing! It was not a day to stay indoors and 
fix up a stamp collection—even though Billy’s 
hobby was one of an ardent collector. 

Maybe Skippy Smith could go somewhere 
—Skip had a stamp that Billy wanted. Billy 
rushed to the telephone. “Hello, Skip—that 
you, old man! Are you busy? Do you want 
to go along with me? I have a dandy stamp 
to swap with you.” 


61 


The deep voice of Skippy’s elder brother, 
George answered. “Why, hello yourself, 
Billy! Skippy’s up at Lake Connover.” 

“I wanted Skippy to go on a hike.” Billy’s 
voice showed his disappointment. “I haven’t 
anyone to play around with. My dad had a 
phone call from a client, some man who wants 
to buy school property to start a school. It 
seems as though I never wanted to go any¬ 
where so much!” 

“Come along with me,” suggested George. 
“You tell your mother you’ll stay the night 
at camp with Skippy. We’ll get you home by 
ten-thirty tomorrow morning. Come on! I’m 
going over to the lake in ten minutes—in my 
little new second-hander. Come along; Skip¬ 
py will be tickled.” 

Billy’s heart bounded. Then he remem¬ 
bered Granny’s birthday party! Dad was 
hurrying home for that, and, of course, he 
couldn’t go to Lake Connover with George! 
“Say, I have an idea! I can’t go all the way 
with you, but I can go part way, if you drop 
me near the trolley, so I can get back to 
Wherebee and home in time for supper! 
Could you?” 

“Sure,” said George. 

“Then I’ll be over,” said Billy. 

Mother looked a bit doubtful, when he 
62 


asked her, but she saw the shadow of dis¬ 
appointment pass over Billy’s face. 

“Son,” she said, “I can depend on you to 
take good care of yourself. I suppose George 
knows all about cars. If you should have a 
blow-out or miss the trolley, telephone home. 
Have you money?” 

Billy nodded and hugged Mother for let¬ 
ting him go. He met George and “The 
Cricket” and climbed up in the seat. He felt 
very grown-up with George, who talked to 
him as if he were his own age. He heard all 
about how George painted the Cricket, all 
the gossip of Austin’s garage, whose car was 
the best, how much money George had—he 
was a little low, or he would have stopped and 
treated to a soda in Milford as they whizzed 
through. And in Bristol, Billy treated George 
to an ice cream. 

Then George said, if they went a round¬ 
about road, they could go by way of Walnut 
Mountain. At the top, they could see Lake 
Connover. He would go that way, if Billy was 
willing. Billy was, so long as he could get 
that trolley back. 

The Cricket climbed the hills with effort. 
They had to stop to cool off the engine. Then 
they saw the view. George pointed out the 
camp, a tiny speck by the blue mirror of 
63 


lakeside. “Lucky I can save on gas going 
down there. I’m sure short on gas. Maybe 
I’ll have to drop you and let you hike it a 
ways into Salem to that trolley, old man. I 
don’t want to buy gas in Salem. I can get it 
for less at the lake.” 

Billy assented with a grin, even though he 
didn’t much relish being left on a road he 
didn’t know. Mother didn’t like to have him 
ask for rides, unless it was somebody he 
knew. “Salem has a trolley, hasn’t it?” he 
asked. 

“Sure.” 

“Then I can make it.” 

“Course you can. I’m sorry this had to 
happen.” At a junction of four roads, George 
slowed down. “Here you are. I’ll tell Skippy 
about that stamp you want. I’ll remember— 
the Lindbergh one. He has two” 

He opened the door of the Cricket just as 
a farm wagon slowed down to pass them, a 
shaggy dog barking on its seat beside a 
pleasant-looking man. “Say,” George hailed 
the farm-cart, “are you going Salem way? 
Here’s a boy who wants to get to the trolley.” 

The man pulled rein and nodded. “Goin’ 
part way,” he said. “Give you a lift as well 
as not.” 

So there was Billy sitting beside the dog 
64 


and the Cricket disappearing into the dis¬ 
tance ! They went a long way, winding about 
and about. They didn’t talk much. After a 
while, the farmer stopped at another cross¬ 
road. 

“Here you go,” he announced. “I go t’other 
way. Now, if you’re headed for the Salem 
trolley, son, you just go straight along, mind 
—no turns! Then you come to a pine wood— 
see? You go along. Then you come to two 
stone posts leading into the old Laverne 
Place—lions on them, you can’t miss them— 
you turn in. There are no dogs or anything 
to bother there! The old place’s been tight 
shut for years. You just go up the drive, and 
when you git to the house, there’s a path 
across the fields. You go straight along, and 
you’ll meet that Salem trolley sure as my 
dog’s name is Buster!” 

Billy turned up the road, whistling to keep 
himself company. It was lonely, but he re¬ 
membered that when Byrd was a lad, he went 
all around the world alone! He thought of 
Lindbergh, too, on his great adventure— 
did he have company? 

A red squirrel scolded from a branch. The 
wind played a lonesome melody in the 
branches of the tall pines in the pine wood; 
a hawk soared overhead with a cry; a little 
65 


green gartersnake wiggled across the muddy 
road. Then Billy caught sight of a brown 
hare. It jumped and ran. A tiny warbler hid¬ 
den in leafage sang a lovely song. 

On Billy tramped, till suddenly, he found 
himself at a bend of the road, facing two 
granite posts either side of a disused drive¬ 
way. Two imposing stone lions guarded a 
heavy iron chain strung double between the 
posts. The overgrown drive led through a 
long avenue of pines. He could not see where 
it led—there was not a glimpse of the old 
Laverne Place! 

Billy bent double under the chain. On all 
fours, he regarded the tangle. It reminded 
him, in its overgrown wildness, of pictures 
of Sleeping Beauty’s wood in the picture book 
Dad gave him when he was little. Yes, it was 
like the road to some castle! He picked his 
way, wondering what this old Laverne Place 
must have been like once-upon-a-time! Billy 
imagined himself a knight in shining armor 
going to rescue somebody imprisoned in a 
castle. It was fun to think about, only such 
things didn’t happen nowadays! 

Then the road turned, and there stood Billy 
gaping with astonishment. It was a real 
castle, a great gray stone castle, towers and 
everything! It was as near a real castle as 


66 





































he had ever seen, even though it had no moat 
and really was just an imposing old country 
residence, forsaken now. Its road probably 
went by many turnings toward Salem. 

It was funny, though, he thought, that no¬ 
body liked to live in it now—he would have 
jumped at the chance! The lower windows 
were all boarded; so were the great doors. 
Upstairs and in the towers, unboarded win¬ 
dows gazed blankly out with the unseeing 
gaze of a deserted home. 

“Huh!” said Billy to himself. “Guess I have 
time to walk around it.” But as he started 
across the lawn, he heard—he did hear—a 
loud knocking somewhere! It sounded as 
though it came from inside the house. Some¬ 
body was pounding on the heavy oak door 
and calling, “Help!” 

“What’s the matter?” Billy tiptoed over 
the muddy gravel and up the stone steps. 

“Help!” came the voice of a boy through 
the door. “The door’s gone bad on me. The 
catch is rusty.” 

First, they could not budge the door, 
swollen as it was by heavy rains. Then, sud¬ 
denly, it swung open. It carried Billy with 
it into a dim passageway so quickly that he 
lost his balance. He sprawled on the floor at 
the feet of another boy. 

68 


The boy wore a brown sweater and shorts. 
His hair was dark and tangled. “Well, we 
did it,” he cried. “Look out, now—quick! Get 
that door before it slams!” He made a quick 
grab at the door swinging back. It banged 
to, again, the key still outside. They were 
both prisoners! 

In the dim passageway, Billy stopped pull¬ 
ing at the door. “We have to get a window 
open.” 

“You’re welcome to try it,” said the other 
boy. “Come on up—we’ll see what we can do. 
It’s too far to jump out of those windows, 
and there’s no rope!” 

At the end of the passageway, a dim light 
filtered from the great castle hall where a 
wide staircase led upward to a landing. It 
was damp and chilly. The great rooms echoed 
with their steps. “Gee! I guess we are in for 
it—and I wanted to get out!” 

“We have to get out,” yelled Billy, remem¬ 
bering Grandmother’s birthday party, and 
his mother’s anxiety, if he should stay im¬ 
prisoned. “If this place does belong to you, 
why isn’t there a hammer in it? I can get 
those windows up—if you cant!” 

But the other boy only giggled weakly. “I 
don’t mind seeing you do it,” he said. 

Well, that was that! 

69 


They had reached the wide castle stairway 
that led to a landing where a stained-glass 
window with armorial crests sent shafts of 
rainbow light into the great upper hall. 
“Now, don’t you go smashing things,” the 
boy warned Billy. “My uncle will be after 
you, if you do!” 

Billy turned on him. “If you’ve got an 
uncle anywhere, bring him on,” he cried. 
“Will he come and let us out? Does he know 
you’re here? What do you mean by your own¬ 
ing this place?” 

“Well, give me a chance!” The other boy 
sat down on the upper step of the stairway. 
Billy came back and balanced on the railing. 
“This place does belong to me. My grand¬ 
mother left it to me in her will, but I was 
never here till today! You see, I haven’t 
been around here and anyhow, it didn’t come 
to me till just lately. This is the old Laverne 
Place. I’m named Laverne—Laverne Lewis. 
My great-grandmother was German. She 
married my great-grandfather —he was 
French. She was a countess—and she—I 
suppose she felt she wanted to live in a castle; 
so when they came to America, they built this 
—only I wasn’t here then.” He giggled. 

“My uncle calls it my white elephant. A 
white elephant is something sort of useless; 

70 


we don’t know what to do with it, you see! 
We want to sell it, but it won’t sell. If I had 
the money, I would go away to school. We 
live in the city, and came down here this 
morning to look at the elephant and then 
my uncle got a call to go to the city. He left 
me at the farm near here, and as I had the 
key, I just thought I’d peek in and look 
around. Then I got shut in with the key out¬ 
side, and when I peeked out of a window, who 
should I see but you coming around toward 
the back! So now you know all about it.” 

“It’s the limit,” returned Billy. And he 
recounted his story. 

Laverne laughed. “It isn’t any use to try 
windows; you can’t budge them. I hunted 
everywhere for a hammer. Even if we did 
get a window smashed open, what could we 
do—we couldn’t climb down.” 

“It was lucky I came to keep you com¬ 
pany,” said Billy. “But you can’t make me 
sit down and wait till your uncle gets back 
sometime tonight! It must be around four 
now, and I’m going to get out of here by five 
anyhow! When do you expect your uncle to 
come back and begin looking for you?” 

Larry grinned. “I don’t know.” 

“Talk of boarded-up places,” said Billy. 
“If this doesn’t beat all! We have a real 


71 


chance at treasure-hunting here. Don’t you 
always read stories of finding treasure in a 
boarded-up place, to say nothing of a castle?” 

“Well, if you want to hunt around, come 
along! We might try the towers, if we can 
find a way to get up into them! Maybe we’ll 
find rope-ladders up there—or bags of gold 
—or—or something.” Laverne’s eyes were 
round, but they danced with mischief. “More 
likely we’ll just come on a lot of precious old 
dust and dirt. I’m glad I have on my old 
togs!” 

Above, a third story was much like the sec¬ 
ond. From chamber to vacant chamber, the 
two reconnoitered. They could find no stair¬ 
way leading to the towers. 

“I’m stumped,” declared Laverne. 

“Me, too,” said Billy. “You wouldn’t know 
there were any towers!” 

“I’ve heard of stairs that let down,” said 
Billy. “My aunt has some in her bungalow. 
You press a button, and the stairs to the attic 
let down.” 

“Bright boy! Let’s look for a button!” 

Yet, though they knocked the paneling ev¬ 
erywhere and felt for buttons in the wood¬ 
work, they were unsuccessful. 

Laverne stopped. “I’m stumped again. Do 
you suppose there might be a stair in a closet, 
72 


just because somebody liked to be mysteri¬ 
ous?’’ 

“There might!” 

The great empty chambers echoed with 
opening and closing doors. Then, from where 
Billy had gone, there came a wild, happy yell. 

Laverne came at a gallop. In what ap¬ 
peared to be a deep closet, first unnoticed, at 
the side of one of the great chambers, was 
a passageway. Old boxes of papers, packing 
boxes, were there deep in dust. “Some of 
your ‘treasure’,” Billy giggled as Laverne 
came up on him. “See the stair—let’s go up! ” 

Yes! It was an iron stairway winding up 
under the towers, and they came up out of 
darkness to a glorious view of surrounding 
country, and looked right down on the rest 
of the castle! But there wasn’t any rope lad¬ 
der there! Some old-fashioned books were 
piled there and some packing boxes of old 
papers tied up with tape. 

“It’s fun to be up here an’ look down,” said 
Laverne. “I have another bright idea.” 

“Tell it!” 

“Let us stay and starve here.” 

“I won’t starve. I have a chocolate bar in 
my pocket—want some? I have a brighter 
idea than you!” 

“What?” 


73 


“It’s about your white elephant. You want 
to sell, and my dad promised me ten dollars 
if I found a school location. It has to be suit¬ 
ed to a prep school—see? Well, isn’t your 
elephant just it? It’d make a dandy prep 
school. We’ll get my dad and your uncle to¬ 
gether, and you’ll sell it. You said you want¬ 
ed to go to a boarding school, didn’t you?” 
Billy went on, his face flushed with excite¬ 
ment. “If I were rich, I’d come here and we’d 
have a bully time—the two of us together. 
I’m glad I met you anyway.” 

Laverne grinned. “I like you, too,” he said. 

“Maybe your dad will get rich. You’ll have 
a new auto, if I sell this, and he gets a fat 
commission!” 

Billy nodded, picking at the papers that 
edged out of the packing box on which he 
was seated. “I want to get rich—some way 
—so I can come to school here with you.” 

“Think of the things we could do,” said 
Laverne. “Boy, see the athletic field over 
there! See the dormitories downstairs—the 
classrooms and the auditorium and the 
gym.” 

Billy ignored the suggestions. “Don’t I see 
it all?” he said, finally. “I might work my 
way through—shining the other fellows’ 
boots!” 


74 



























‘‘If I were rich, Fd ask you to come to my 
school!” 

“It wouldn’t be yours, if you sold it!” Billy 
reminded him. 

“Then sell something you have and get 
rich!” 

“Um-hum—my stamp collection, may- 
be—” 

“You interested in stamps, too? I just knew 
we liked the same things. But I wouldn’t sell 
mine—no, sir!” 

“Me, either,” said Billy. “I know a boy— 
Skippy Smith—who bought an album from 
another fellow for three dollars— cash. The 
other fellow was just dumb—that stamp col¬ 
lection is some wonder, and valuable, too! 
I’m after some of Skip’s stamps—I’m going 
to try to get them in trade.” He kicked the 
packing box crossly. 

A thick cloud of dust made him sneeze. 
“Cachoo-cachoo-caehoo!” He thought it so 
funny that he pretended to sneeze more and 
more violently. “CACHOO-OO-OO!” he went 
and just then the lid of the packing box 
cracked under his weight with a snap and 
let him down into depths of something soft 
and dusty. 

He put out his hands to save himself. They 
touched some packages of old letters! 

76 


“I bet I got the treasure,” he yelled. “It 
might be stamps—old stamps! Look here!” 
He tore away the wrapping around the old 
letters and revealed strange old postmarks 
and foreign stamps. They had the imprint 
of castles and they were dated 1859. 

Laverne looked amazed. “Must be gran¬ 
ny’s old letters. Uncle said she knew lots of 
interesting people and had traveled a lot. If 
that’s so, Uncle wants to publish some of 
them.” He sat down beside Billy on the floor, 
and they began to look over the packages. 
There were stamps of all kinds—unusual 
rare ones! 

“They’re mine,” said Laverne. “The let¬ 
ters are, too. Now, see here—we each keep 
the stamps we want! I’m giving you what 
you find because I like you. We’ll keep the 
letters in order and open the packages!” 

“You’re a brick!” 

The boys squealed with delight. They 
found the full series of the Hamburg castles 
—not all on letters, but in letters. Someone 
before them had been a collector too! 

Laverne’s own pile had duplicates of 
Billy’s. They were so absorbed that they for¬ 
got they were imprisoned. They forgot that 
Billy wanted to get the trolley. They forgot 
everything else! Those boxes were simply a 

77 


treasure mine of old stamps! Why, some 
must have been worth anywhere from ten 
dollars to seventy—maybe more! 

“I have a stamp catalog; we’ll look them 
up,” said Laverne. “I’m giving you this one, 
so you’ll be able to come to my prep school, 
Billy—I mean it. 

“It’s a find. It’s worth all of $250—Meso¬ 
potamia, 1913! I have another just like it.” 

“Say—don’t you give it away.” 

“I will too—to you —so you can come here 
to school.” Laverne grinned. “I bet we’ll 
find others to make up your full tuition. You 
have to come!” 

“We’ll be pals!” 

“Sure we will.” 

But just then both boys started. They sat 
frozen like frightened rabbits. They looked 
at each other questioningly. Most unmistak¬ 
ably, a deep voice was heard speaking—and 
it came, without a doubt, from the passage 
where the stair led up to their tower! 

“Your uncle?” asked Billy. 

“No,” said Laverne. “What shall we do?” 

But there was no chance to do anything, 
for there came a heavy tread on the stairs. 
They slid their stamps into their pockets and 
jumped to their feet. All around them lay 
the packages of old letters! 

78 


A tall man came up the stairs and con¬ 
fronted them. The two looked at him, not 
knowing what to say in their surprise. “Boys 
here?” he said pleasantly but with a start. 
“How appropriate! In fact, I had already 
seen boys here!” He laughed softly. “I’ve 
been seeing boys ever since I came inside 
this old Laverne Place,” he called to some¬ 
body behind him. 

That person peeped up the stair, and it was 
Billy’s own dad! The man behind him must 
be his client. 

“Why, Uncle!” said Laverne. 

“I found your prep school, Dad,” piped up 
Billy. “Hand over the ten-dollar bill!” 

“I will,” replied Dad solemnly. “Then you 
can tell me how you happen to be here.” 

“Then you can tell us if it’s sold—we both 
want to come here to school together! I have 
—I have a stamp Laverne gave me to pay 
part tuition, Dad.” 

“We have lots of stamps, and Billy’s going 
to have half of them.” Laverne began to hold 
out the stamp for Uncle to see. “Granny’s 
old letters, I think—the ones you wanted to 
find.” 

Uncle nodded. “You two can go over them 
and take the stamps. I knew she collected 
rare stamps too. There was quite a collection 
79 


in a big stamp album; I told you about it, 
Laverne. What’s that pile of books there?” 

He turned them over and brought to light 
a splendid old stamp album, hidden among 
them. “Granny used to like this tower. She 
made it a room where she could come and 
look off over the country and get away from 
other things. I imagine she had her boxes 
of letters brought here to look them over 
sometimes. And when the things were taken 
from the place—furniture—why nobody 
thought of looking up here, even if he knew 
of the secret stairway!” 

“Let’s see the album! Guess we did find a 
treasure, Bill ! Was it your bright idea?” 

“No, yours!” 

They laughed. 

But Dad put his hand on Billy’s shoulder. 
“Young man,” he said, “we’ll come back, but 
now we must go! I’ve the Old Ark downstairs 
and there’s room in it for two young men who 
are soon going to a new prep school—the best 
in the whole country, mind you!” 

“Laverne’s coming home with us?” 

“As far as Salem, son! We’ll ask him over 
next Saturday, or maybe I’ll take you both 
here to play with stamps when we talk over 
the school project.” 

“Laverne,” cried Billy. “Some luck I don’t 
80 


have to find the trolley! Come on—I’m ready! 
Dad, can I stop on the way home and buy a 
big box of candy for Grandmother with part 
of that ten dollars you owe me?” 

And they all chuckled. 



81 













BILLY AND THE GYPSIES 

Soon after the adventure in the castle 
Billy’s family went to the country. Each 
summer Mother spent a few weeks at the 
farm. Billy wanted to have Laverne—Larry 
for short—visit him. So it was arranged. 

It was just after Mother telephoned from 
Woodville, long distance, to Mrs. Kelley. “Be 
careful to keep the cottage locked. Mrs. 
Chandler where I am staying just lost all her 
old silver, a valuable necklace, and other 
things. She thinks the gypsies took them. 
They can’t trace them. It may be they took 
the road to Holbrook. Look out.” 


82 









Mrs. Kelley was locking the windows. She 
came on Billy, adding the last touches of ban¬ 
danna and wide straw hat to his toilet. He 
was going to the station five miles away— 
Holbrook Junction—to meet Larry, who was 
coming on the up-train that noon. He was 
coming for a whole two weeks’ visit. 

“Too bad Mom and Dad took the car,” 
mused Billy. “I have to hitch up Peg an’ go 
after him! I’m going now, Mrs. Kelley— 
good-bye!” 

Yes, too bad the new car had gone to Mrs. 
Chandler’s Garden Club meeting! But Billy 
found Pegasus in the field and hitched him 
to the old express wagon. He had never used 
that wagon before. Usually he rode Peg. But 
it was all right. Mr. Daniels had given him 
permission—any time. 

“I know you’re responsible,” Mr. Daniels 
said. “You can be trusted, Billy. Any time— 
you just take Peg; it’s all right.” 

So the express cart with Billy on its front 
seat jogged off down the wood road toward 
Holbrook Junction. The road went on to 
Woodville. But the road was too bad for an 
automobile—just a rough country road 
through woods. He never met anybody. 

As Billy had passed the general store, a 
mile from the Cory cottage, George, the 

83 


clerk, had been out in front. “Don’t go off 
with those gypsies,” yelled George by way of 
joke. “If you want huckleberries today, I 
have some—” 

Billy nodded. In his pocket was twenty-five 
cents for those huckleberries. Mother had 
told him to bring them home. There was also 
ten cents for lemon soda to treat Larry when 
they stopped on the way home. 

“Get your fortune told—” called George. 
But Peg trotted so nimbly and fast that there 
was no time to think up an appropriate word 
to fling back, so Billy flapped the rains. 

He turned into the short cut to the station 
by way of that rather lonely road to get there 
a bit ahead of train time—to be quite sure to 
be there when Larry came. Whoop-la— 
there’d be something doing all right when 
Larry came. Billy’s thoughts danced. 

And then, looking ahead, he caught sight 
of something bright through the bushes at 
the side of the road. It was a gypsy wagon 
loaded up with all manner of gypsy household 
stuff! There were two men and two women. 
They were talking heatedly. One of the men 
had something in one hand—it looked like a 
heavy bundle. They seemed surprised to see 
a wagon coming up that deserted road. 

“I tella nice fortune, young man!” cried 
84 



It was a gypsy wagon 
85 















































































one of the women. She wore great gold ear¬ 
rings. She had ever so many skirts on, all 
different colors. “I tella fine fortune—” 

But Billy shook his head. “Get up, Peg,” 
he said. 

But—but as luck would have it, he had to 
stop! The rear wheel of the express cart had 
sounded queer—but Billy supposed it all 
right. Its axle was loose. And just after Billy 
had passed the gypsies, the nut rolled off into 
the soft road. 

In a twinkling, he had the nut in his hand. 
But he could not get it back on the wheel 
properly. There was nothing to do but call 
back to the gypsies—“Say, can you lend a 
hand?” 

The man who had the bundle spoke to the 
other. And, taking his time, the other am¬ 
bled over to Billy on the road. “I fix him,” he 
said. And he took the nut and put it back. 
Billy stood watching. 

“Pay,” said the man, giving the wheel a 
final kick with his heavy boot. He held out 
a dirty palm. 

Well, nobody Billy had ever met on the 
road in dad’s car ever took money for help¬ 
ing in road trouble. But he fished in his 
pocket and took out the quarter. “Sorry,” 
he said. “It’s all I got.” 

86 


But the gypsy woman who told fortunes 
had come up. “I bet you gotta fine fortune 
in your hand/' she ingratiated. “Cross my 
palm with silver—I tell you all. Don’ you 
wanta know all of the fine fortune I tell you?” 
she asked, laying a dark hand on Billy’s 
shoulder. It had many gold rings. But it was 
dirty. 

From under the hand, Billy slid out. He 
climbed to the wagon seat. “I don’t believe 
in fortunes,” he said. “And I’ve only got ten 
cents—you don’t tell fortunes for that!” 

“Sure, sure!” she insisted. “I tella your 
fortune! Letta see—you gotta fine one, I 
bet!” 

Billy grinned. The fun of it came over him. 
He pulled the ten cents from his pocket and 
crossed her hand, gravely, bending down 
from the high wagon seat. 

Her fingers were on his wrist. He laughed. 
“Pitch in,” he said. 

“Long, long life, young man,” whispered 
the gypsy. “Much travel. You geta married 
sometime. Be careful—never trusta dark, 
dark frien’—Money?—you get money all 
right!—You getta other things too—You be 
somebody some day—see! You finda some¬ 
thing pretty nice too—I don’ know what— 
But you watch out. You vera lucky. Bright 
87 


young man. Something good coming your 
way —/ bet—” He was looking at Peg, shak¬ 
ing his tail at a fly. He felt a pressure on his 
wrist, soft. “You be rich, vera rich, vera 
lucky,” the gypsy woman said. “Now, that’s 
all I tella you for a dime—You get money— 
come back—I tella you all!” 

“Thank you,” he said. He lifted the long 
whip from its socket. “If she doesn’t let me 
go, I’ve got the whip,” he thought. “Peg 
will go fast—” 

But she fell back, and as he turned his head 
he saw her going back to the gypsy wagon. 
He caught sight, also, of two of the gypsies 
turning into the woods. One was the man 
who carried that lumpy package. What were 
they doing there? But Billy dismissed it. He 
wanted to put space between himself and 
them. They were a tricky lot. They might 
want to steal Peg—but, of course, with Billy 
on the seat, and the whip—oh, they couldn’t 
try that! The wheel was all right now—Peg 
galloped on at a fast trot. What was that? 
The whistle of the up-train! He mustn’t 
miss it! 

He came out by the turning to Holbrook 
Junction just in time. There was the train 
slowing down! There—there was Larry! 

“Hi, there!” squealed Billy. “Here I am!” 

88 


Larry came running. “Some turnout,” he 
cried. “Wait, I have to see to my trunk—do 
you take it?” 

“Guess you’d better send it up by Wilson. 
He’ll take it. I kinda thought we’d go take a 
drive before going straight home. We don’t 
want to be bothered with the trunk. Wait; 
I’ll help.” He found Wilson. It was arranged. 
The two climbed onto the broad seat of the 
cart. Larry disposed of his overcoat. He held 
a package in his hand. “This is my lunch,” 
he said. “Father’s housekeeper made me take 
it. I’ll wager she put something good inside, 
but I hate to eat on a train when I’m by my¬ 
self—I have something for you, Billy—in my 
trunk—You’ll like it! I brought my stamp 
album: we can do it nights. I got a whole lot 
to swap off with you—” 

“I know what you brought me,” giggled 
Billy delightedly. “Candy—chocolates—” 

“Dad sent ’m—I brought you—Oh, you 
wait —” 

Peg backed. They were jogging homeward. 
Billy pulled the reins. “Who-a!” he said. 
“Now—see here, we got to decide what we’ll 
do. Suppose we make that lunch a picnic— 
say what?—Say we go somewhere nice and 
eat it an’ take a nice drive? Where to?” 

“Dunno—anywhere—” 

89 


“We have a lot of time/’ said Billy, and 
looked mechanically at the wrist that held 
his watch. It was gone! That light-fingered 
gypsy! She did it—he knew when, too! 

“Say, Larry,” he exclaimed. “My watch— 
the watch Uncle Billy gave me for my Christ¬ 
mas—it’s gone! There was a gypsy an’ she 
wanted to tell my fortune—an’ I let her—an’ 
she took it! I’m going straight back there 
an’ get it back! It was a swell silver watch— 
She took it while I was watching Peg an’ 
thinking about that silly stuff she told me!” 

“Huh, she won’t give it back,” said Larry. 
“But we can go—” 

So Peg dashed down the road they had 
come over. And they talked over the gypsies. 

“You’ll have to be careful,” Larry cau¬ 
tioned. “You can pretend you dropped your 
watch. Don’t accuse her. Maybe she’ll be 
afraid to keep it and give it back—” 

But when they reached the spot, not a 
gypsy was there! 

Well, the watch was gone, that was all. Too 
bad. Too bad. 

“I hear a brook around here,” said Billy. 
“I’m going to give Peg a drink. There’s a 
little pail in the back. We could eat your 
lunch here, too,” he suggested. “It’s pretty 
here. We can sit right on this seat and eat. 

90 


Then we can decide what to do next. Wish 
we could drive over to Woodville where Mom 
and Dad are. It’s a garden party—kind of 
all-day one, I guess. But I’m not dressed up 
to go, and I wasn’t asked, anyhow —only Mrs. 
Chandler has a lake in her place, and boats, 
and if we could go, we could go rowing—” 

Larry was undoing the wonderful box of 
lunch. From it, Billy’s eyes looked casually 
to the ground. Something held his gaze. 
What was it? Why, it looked like a sparkling 
dewdrop catching the sun; it wasn’t, though 
— He was out of the cart. He bent down. 
“Larry,” he cried. “See what I have—it’s a 
ring —a diamond!” He was all excitement. 
“Wish they’d dropped my watch instead,” he 
cried. “You take care of this. Put it some¬ 
where safe—I’ll take the pail and get the 
drink for Peg.” 

Larry was busy setting out the lunch on the 
seat of the express cart. My, but it looked 
good: stuffed deviled eggs, ham sandwiches, 
nuts, an apple and an orange, a chocolate bar, 
two small chocolate cakes! He put the ring 
in his purse. “Hurry up,” he sighed. “I’m 
hungry—” That ring was worth something 
—must have been taken as Billy’s watch was 
—Oh, gypsies always were light-fingered. 
They'd find the owner—sure! 

91 


But here, Billy came back from the brook. 
He held a finger to his lips. He did not carry 
the pail. “Sh-h—” he cautioned. “Come 
along! Leave Peg. Come an’ help me—Be 
awful quiet!—Sh-h—I found somethin’—I— 
guess we got more’n the ring!—I dunno. 
Hurry!” 

“What’d you find?” inquired Larry in 
hushed voice as he followed Billy, beckoning 
from the bushes that led into the woods. 

“Sh-h—” cautioned Billy. “Dunno—just 
looks as if they’d hidden something. That’s 
all. I’ll bet that was what they were jabber¬ 
ing about when I came along. Might be they 
knew the Woodville police were out after 
them an’ they didn’t want to have anything 
found in their cart. They could bury it. And 
afterward they could go back after it. My, 
I wish my watch was there—” He made a 
very cautious step. He stopped and looked 
about. “I thought it was here,” he said. “No 
—here—Here it is!” He turned and looked 
all about. He listened with finger to his lips. 

There was not a sound. Only the tinkle of 
the brook in the hollow came to them in liquid 
notes of a little waterfall over the stones. It 
was quite thick woods. The ferns grew high. 
Billy pointed. Larry looked. It was the print 
of a large boot on the soft soil of the damp 
92 


earth where gray moss grew on a stone and 
shiny wintergreen leaves glistened. There 
was a stone near, a big stone. 

Larry looked. “I don’t see anything,” he 
whispered. “Go ahead, Sherlock Holmes— 
Yes, I know. I am being still— Hark!” 

They stopped short and listened. But it was 
only some wild creature like a rabbit or a fox. 

Billy bent down. Again he pointed. “There 
were some threads from a bit of sacking,” he 
said. “I saw’em. They made me think of the 
package that gypsy man had when I came on 
them having that row about something—” 

He pointed to the stone. It had clearly 
been carried to a place where it did not be¬ 
long. There was a pile of stones a little way 
off. And, anyway, he could see that the 
whole earth right there had been dug up 
lately. And the wintergreen over it wasn’t 
rooted—and the stone had come from the 
other place. 

“I just stubbed my toe on it,” explained 
Billy, “going for the water. Then I waited. 
It hurt. An’ I happened to look down—an’ I 
saw — Bet they hid something here! Let’s 
lift that stone. Looks like a marker, to me! 
Right by the tree, too—to mark the place!” 

Larry tugged. Billy helped. They pushed. 
They moved it a bit. Once in a while they 
93 


started, stopped, listened. But there were no 
other sounds—no footsteps, no cracking 
twigs. 

Nor was there anyone passing on that lone¬ 
ly wood road. They knew Peg was all right. 
Once in a while Billy peeped to see, stopping 
in efforts to move the stone. It was heavy— 
whew—but they got it rolled off. They ac¬ 
tually did! 

“Dig,” said Billy. And the two fell to it like 
wild creatures unearthing a cache. They had 
to use their hands. Billy tried using the pail, 
but it was no good. It was evident the earth 
had been stamped down, too. It was loose 
earth with bits of fern in it—red berries that 
had gone in with the earth and small stones. 

“See there!” 

Yes, there it was, unmistakable—a bit of 
old sacking! Something very hard under 
there! Again they fell to digging. 

And covered with dirt—yes, it was the 
package—it must be—the thing that gypsy 
man had held in his hand! 

Billy’s heart pounded. 

Trickles of moisture stood out on Larry’s 
forehead. His cheeks were flushed. 

They said not a word. They lifted it out 
together! It was heavy, a dirty package of 
something very heavy, all tied up tight with 
94 



They lifted it out together 

95 














































































strong cord. Billy motioned to Larry. They 
put it down. They fixed it all as before—even 
to rolling the stone back carefully. They 
stopped and listened. 

The wood was quite quiet. The stone was 
just as they had found it—no one would 
have known. They had put other stones in 
the open hole and covered them. It must look 
all right—if the gypsies did come there—if 
they did meet them going back—well, they 
mustn’t suspect Larry or Billy. That was it! 

Then, between the two, they managed to 
get the heavy bundle to the express cart. 

“Have to hide it,” said Billy. “Suppose we 
can get it under the seat? The seat lifts up.” 

There was all the lunch! Larry hustled it 
back in the box, all mussed up. They lifted 
up the seat. They got the package of gypsy 
loot in there. The seat went down over it! 

Whew! They wiped their hot faces and 
dirty hands. “Guess we’d better move on,” 
said Billy in a whisper. 

Larry kept looking around. He was afraid 
they’d meet the gypsies. “If we do, we’ll just 
go as fast as we can, Billy—I say,” he said 
under his breath, “do you know where to re¬ 
port this—” He clung to the lunch box. 
“Hadn’t we better go straight back to your 
house?” he questioned. 

96 


Right then they came to the main highway. 
It was not so lonely. They slowed down. 
“Yea-a,” returned Billy, “I know what to 
do—” He drove on. “I’ll stop at the General 
Store an’ let George put the stuff in the 
safe—” He looked at Larry for approval. 
“What say?” he asked. “I have to get the 
huckleberries for the pie there. George’ll tell 
me what to do. An’ he’ll charge the berries.” 

They slowed Peg at the General Store. 
“Whoa!” called Billy. My, but it was a relief 
to know they had reached that safe destina¬ 
tion and that the seat under the two held 
something nobody even suspected! 

Larry stayed outside, holding the reins. 
Billy went inside. He seemed a long time. 
Then he came out with George. George’s eyes 
were incredulous and round. 

“Hello, Larry,” he greeted. “Glad to see 
you back! If you’ll get off that seat, now, I’ll 
take what’s there for me!” 

The automobile party that was buying 
soda pop and drinking it with straws never 
even dreamed anything unusual was hap¬ 
pening! 

Then Billy came out with two soda-water 
bottles. “Which do you like—sarsaparilla or 
ginger?” he asked. “You can go wash up in 
the store. I did. Let’s go over there by the 
97 


bridge an’ eat. George is going to telephone 
—we’d better wait,” he said meaningly. 

So Larry went and washed up. George told 
him that they were waiting for the Holbrook 
sheriff to come. He said he’d be over in his 
car right away. 

The two climbed down on the rocks by the 
bridge that crossed the Holbrook River. It 
was cool there—but not exactly a picnic 
place. 

Larry laid the lunch out on the stones. They 
divided it evenly. They counted out for the 
apple. Larry got it. 

“Say,” said Billy, reflectively. “It’s luck 
that we got away with it. They might’ve 
come back.” 

“Supposing they’d come when we were un¬ 
earthing it!” There was a thrill in that. 

“They got my watch—I’m glad I got what 
they stole,” mused Billy. “Uncle Billy gave 
me that watch. I wanted it a long time—and 
it’s gone!” 

“Too bad,” said Larry. He was eating the 
last nut. “Forget it. We’re going to have a 
lot of sport together—we two,” he said. “I 
vote for a swim—” 

“Me, too—but we gotta go home first—Oh, 
here he is!” 

It was Mr. Freeburg, the sheriff. He sat 
98 


down on the rock beside them. “Smart kids,” 
he said. “I took a look at the contents of that 
package you found, young men; it’s the silver 
they stole from Woodville. 

“They tried to hide it so they could get safe 
by us till they were examined. They came 
through here. I got them. Just been all 
through their crazy cart. But I let them go 
just before I heard from you. Bet they’re on 
their way back to dig up their plunder now!” 
he laughed. “I couldn’t hold ’em,” he said. 
“There wasn’t anything there but their own 
stuff.” 

He put his hand into his pocket. “You lost 
a watch, Bill?” he asked. “I found this tucked 
in there—does it by any chance happen to be 
yours?” He held it out. 

Billy gave a little happy cry. He caught 
the watch. “Sure,” he exclaimed joyously. 
“Never expected to see it again—say—she 
told me I’d find something! She told me I’d 
be lucky! But she didn’t know what she was 
telling me, did she?” 

They all laughed. 

“Guess most of that silver belongs to that 
place up where your mother and dad have 
gone,” said Mr. Freeburg. “It’s got their 
initials on it. The necklace is there, too! I 
just ’phoned over. They were pleased over 
99 


the news. I just said two smart young men 
found it—didn’t say who!” He chuckled. 

“Don’t know if you’d condescend to take 
the reward,” he went on. “Mrs. Chandler of¬ 
fered me a lot for you. I said, ‘They aren’t 
the kind that’ll take money—I expect.’ ” He 
paused. “Billy,” he said, “I did let on who it 
was. And she said, ‘Well—well!—I shall ask 
him and his friend over here and just give 
them both the time of their lives. We’ll have 
to fix that up!’ ” 

The two grinned at the prospect. “I told 
you I wanted to take you there, Larry,” cried 
Billy. “There’s a lake and rowboats!—Say, 
I’m glad I got my watch back! Guess we bet¬ 
ter get Peg and go along home! The trunk 
must be there. I want to find out what’s in 
it that you brought me!” 



100 










A STOLEN CAR 

Billy’s next adventure was that of de¬ 
tective. And like all the others, it came when 
he least expected such a thing to occur. 

Uncle William’s shining new car stopped 
in front of the Cory family’s drive. “Bo- 
hawnk! Bo-hawnk! Bo-hawnk!” went the 
brand-new horn proudly. 

Billy Cory came running out of the side 
door of the porch, a blue rubber kitchen 
apron of his mother’s tied around his chest. 

101 













“Oh, Uncle Will,” he cried joyously. “It’s 
the best car you’ve ever had. I want to see 
how it goes!” 

Uncle Will beamed down at Billy. “Where 
are the folks? I came to show it to them.” 

“All gone,” answered Billy. “They just 
went off in our old ark on a shopping trip 
to Kensington. Mother wanted me to go and 
there was room, only I knew she wanted to 
take her friend, Mrs. Stivers. The twins had 
to go to be kept out of mischief and Ben 
filled in like a sardine filling. So I stayed 
home and—now, I get rewarded, don’t I?” 

Uncle Will grinned. “Sure, Billy. Hop in!” 

But Billy stopped short, trying to untie 
the rubber strings of the apron. “I forgot. 
There are the lunch dishes and I said I’d do 
’em. Suppose the folks got back first!” 

“Lock up and do them when you get back,” 
said Uncle Will. “We’ll take a little spin to 
Wherebee and be back by three o’clock. 
They can’t get home till five anyhow! I have 
some business to attend to, and what do you 
say we get some ice cream while we’re over 
there and celebrate the new car?” 

Billy grinned. Then he dashed back to the 
house, and after a vigorous slamming of 
windows, he came dashing out again, car¬ 
rying a brown paper bag. 

102 


“Say, Uncle Will, Mother’s been wanting 
to take back a pair of shoes she bought for 
me at a shop in Wherebee. I have to select 
another pair; could we do that today?” 

Uncle Will nodded, and Billy tossed the 
brown paper bag with the shoes into the 
back seat, where they fell on the floor of the 
sedan. And then—Bo-hawnk! bo-hawnk!— 
the shining new car started off with a soft 
purr of the engine. They were going down 
the paved road toward Gilder’s Corners and 
the post road to Wherebee! 

“This new model is just about right,” said 
Billy. “There aren’t many of them around 
here—but if I could choose, I’d take this, just 
as you have, Uncle!” 

“It’s the best outside the big fellows,” 
Uncle Will replied contentedly, watching the 
road ahead. Here they passed a red-roofed 
gas station, there a log-cabin lunch room, 
and farther on a wayside booth where the 
sign proclaimed, “Hot Dogs.” 

“Are we going to change the shoes first 
or have ice cream?” asked Billy. 

“Shoes can wait, can’t they? What kind 
shall it be, Billy?” 

Billy reflected. “If you’re going to cele¬ 
brate very much, Uncle, George’s, that place 
in Wherebee, where we go for ice cream, has 
103 


a mixture of strawberries and nuts and all 
kinds of things—I forget what they call it.” 
He lapsed into silence for a moment, as he 
gazed at the landscape with its hurrying 
cars. “You know, Uncle, I know what I’m 
going to be when I grow up. I just decided! ” 
“What?” Uncle Will shot ahead of the slow 
car that was blocking the way. He dashed 
ahead of a big van. Then Billy got a chance 
to answer. “A detective, that’s what!” 

Uncle Will smiled. “Well, Billy, I’ve no¬ 
ticed that you usually observe keenly and 
quickly. You can reason. So you’re not go¬ 
ing to turn into a professor like me!” 

“It would be fun to be a detective,” mused 
Billy. “I think—I might do it—” 

Uncle Will did not answer. They were 
getting into traffic. Uncle Will was intent 
on his driving. And Billy got interested in 
the traffic, too. “There, there!” he exclaimed. 
“Saw a car just like yours, Uncle! Same 
year and same color! It’s gone now. That 
shows I can see things quickly—detectives 
have to!” 

But the car had gone. Uncle Will never 
even noticed it. Professors mightn’t, but fu¬ 
ture detective Billy was testing his powers 
of observation; it was a training he was just 
now giving himself. He would look hard at 
104 


something and then try to remember all its 
details. This was like a game and was fun. 

Uncle Will, however, stopped at the junc¬ 
tion to await the green light. Then on they 
went. And, at last, turning from Main Street, 
they went to George’s, the ice cream place. 

The celebration was all it should have 
been in honor of the new car. Then Uncle 
said, “Billy, wouldn’t you like to order some¬ 
thing else? You stay here and watch the car. 
Jim Bradley, an old pal of mine, has a shop 
just two doors down the street and I want 
to see him.” 

He was gone. Billy went to the counter, 
where he slid up to a high stool and began 
to converse with Tony over the counter as 
to which to try next. It was a most absorb¬ 
ing topic, for Tony was eloquent. Billy had 
cast an eye at the curb on leaving his table. 
The car was there. And then he forgot it en¬ 
tirely. 

A man came in and had iced coffee and 
went out. Then Billy looked for the car. 
Strange, it seemed to have moved. He didn’t 
quite remember where they had parked, 
but he thought they had left the car nearer 
the door. Well, he must be mistaken. The 
car was there. He decided that his ability to 
observe correctly needed more training; a 
105 


true detective should have been able to mark 
the very spot when asked. 

Billy dismissed detective business and be¬ 
gan on Tony’s new and luscious mixture— 
pineapple and whipped cream, and cherries! 
And the ice cream was green! Tony had ar¬ 
ranged the dish as only an artist would; the 
cherries looked like red flowers in a soft 
green garden, and the crushed golden pine¬ 
apple against the green background looked 
too good to eat! 

“Um-yum.” That was about all Billy said 
till Uncle appeared. 

“We’d better get back, young man. Have 
to go to the shoe shop, haven’t we?” 

And so Billy disposed of what was left and 
Uncle paid the check. And they opened the 
door of the sedan at the curbing and Uncle 
started off. 

“This doesn’t seem like your car,” said 
Billy, as they sped down High Street. “Bet 
you got the wrong car, Uncle Will!” 

Uncle laughed. “Same car you came in,” 
he said, “only you’ve had too much ice cream 
to see straight, maybe, Billy!” 

They were going full speed now, on the 
post road again, and Billy leaned far back 
over the seat and peered down at the floor¬ 
ing where he had tossed the brown-paper 
106 


5FRE/H FRUIT 

3 


^ /‘'‘'A. t' u ^ 

CJU' '> m 


t% W^im! ^ 

W '1! film, 

y, ' li hW 

m* U U ill 

m 


Tony had arranged the dish as only an artist would 
107 





































bag with the shoes in it. They were nearing 
the corner where they turned for the shoe 
shop.- Billy lurched at the turning and got a 
full glimpse of the floor. “The shoe bag 
isn’t here; it isn’t,” he insisted. “I put it 
there in the back! I knew you had the wrong 
car.” 

Uncle slowed down. “All right, if you real¬ 
ly think you’re a Sherlock Holmes, Billy, you 
hop out and look for the bag. If it was stolen 
—why, you find out who took your shoes. 
There’s the chance of being a detective for 
you! I bet you’ll find them—just look a little 
closer.” 

But Billy was already out of the car look¬ 
ing at the license number. “I told you so, 
Uncle Will. You’re not in your own car at 
all! I said so the minute we got in! You come 
and look for yourself!” 

It was so! Uncle turned around, and they 
hurried back to town. He was sure that Jim 
Bradley, his old pal, had played a practical 
joke on him, substituting a car of the same 
make and color in place of the one which, he 
had just been boasting, was the best car any¬ 
where. He wasn’t in the least concerned, for 
he was sure he’d find Jim Bradley grinning 
and waiting their return. He always had 
been a practical joker—even from a boy. 

108 


But when they reached there—no! Jim 
Bradley looked actually worried. “Honest,” 
he said. “I never did it. What happened is 
that some guy liked the looks of your car 
better’n his and he stole yours. You get the 
police!” 

By this time Uncle Will was excited. He 
rushed to the telephone, while Billy waited 
in the car, his eyes roving over the shop win¬ 
dows. In one there stood crockery—a table 
set with it! Suddenly, he remembered the 
unwashed dishes that Mother would find, if 
he did not hurry home. 

Uncle came back. “Billy, I have to go to 
the police station. So you’d better take the 
bus and go on home, for your Mother will 
worry, if she doesn’t find you when she gets 
there.” 

“All right,” said Billy. “I hope you get 
the car, Uncle—wish I could help you.” 

He watched Uncle Will back and turn and 
then he lost him in the traffic as he started 
for the corner where the bus always stopped. 
There was no bus there. And while waiting, 
what should come along but Bunty’s Store 
wagon from his very own town? He waved 
frantically, and the driver saw him and 
slowed down. “Want a lift home?” he asked. 

It didn’t take Billy long to scramble up 

109 


beside him. Nor did it take long to tell his 
story. 

“By Jove,” cried the driver. “I saw a car 
like that over by the Square not a half hour 
ago!” 

Without a word more, he turned around 
and put on speed. 

And as they came to the Square Billy, 
looking ahead, cried, “There! There! Oh, 
it’s going—catch it! That’s it! Hurry!” 

He had even forgotten about the unwashed 
dinner dishes at home! He was beginning 
his career as a detective. 

They raced after the car that looked like 
Uncle Will’s new one, Billy clinging tight to 
the side of the delivery car’s high seat, the 
driver of Bunty’s wagon honking wildly. Far 
ahead they caught occasional glimpses of 
the car they were pursuing, and at last they 
began to gain on it. And then it rolled up 
a perfectly respectable driveway that be¬ 
longed to a neat white bungalow and stopped 
short. Out of it there emerged a nicely 
dressed lady and a gentleman in knickers. 
And when Billy looked at the license, it was 
not Uncle Will’s car at all—moreover, it was 
last year’s model! 

So much for that! 

The driver of Bunty’s delivery car laughed. 

110 


He thought it a good joke. “Too bad, but 
anyhow, you can’t say we didn’t try it! Come 
on, we have to get back now. Cars get stolen 
every day, and I guess your Uncle has in¬ 
surance.” 

“Not yet,” said Billy, gloomily. “He was 
going to, but he always puts things off.” 

The delivery car rattled on up the post¬ 
road now, and it was going at a mild rate 
past the Do-Drop-Inn when Billy suddenly 
yelled, “Oh, there it goes!” 

Bunty’s driver nearly skidded into the gut¬ 
ter as he gazed at the car flying in opposite 
direction past them. There it was—this 
year’s model, exactly the thing! They 
couldn’t see the license number, it went so 
fast. In it was a man—perhaps the one who’d 
stolen it. 

And in less time than it takes to tell it, 
Bunty’s delivery wagon was on the chase 
again! The driver backed, and they were 
in hot pursuit! 

It was an exciting ride. But the car ahead 
had considerable gain and it remained 
ahead, as the delivery wagon was often held 
up by trucks and trolley cars that insisted 
on stopping at the very moment when they 
might have caught up. Up one hill, and down 
another they raced and through Wherebee 
111 


again! Close on the tracks of the other car 
they followed! Out of Wherebee and straight 
ahead to Chesterton they went—almost clear 
there, too! 

And then the driver of the car ahead 
stopped short. He rolled into a gas station 
and stopped! 

“You’ve got our car,” squealed Billy. 
“Hand it over!” 

The man looked surprised, then angry. “I 
have not. I live in Chesterton, don’t I, Jim?” 
He turned to the man at the gas station. “Is 
this my own car or isn’t it?” 

“It’s yours,” said Jim dryly. “What do 
those two take you for, anyhow?” 

It wasn’t Uncle’s car. It had a little set of 
initials on the doors! Nor was it his license 
number. 

Billy apologized. He told them about his 
uncle’s car. “And if you should see it,” he 
said, “be sure to phone the police station at 
Wherebee!” 

They promised. 

The delivery car turned foolishly, backed, 
and was on its homeward way again. And 
the clock on a building they passed pro¬ 
claimed that it was now quarter past four! 

Into Billy’s mind then flitted the thought 
of his mother’s home-coming—a kitchen up- 
112 


set with unwashed dinner dishes and the 
table, full of dinner dishes! As for Bunty’s 
driver, he was silent. Doubtless, as he put 
on speed, he thought of all the work he had 
waiting to be done. Then, just out of Where- 
bee again, suddenly there was a report. 
Bang! They had a puncture! 

Right ahead lay a repair shop connected 
with a garage. That was luck anyhow! 

As the repair man came to them, Billy slid 
from the seat of the delivery car. A good 
detective always keeps his eyes open, and 
Billy sauntered toward the garage nearby. 
He always liked to look at cars. He made 
his way slowly across its front, looking in. 
It was dark and cool in there and smelled of 
automobiles and oil and gas. 

But, gracious! As he came around the 
side of the garage, not expecting anything 
at all, there, if you please, stood Uncle Will’s 
nice new car as real as life. A mechanic was 
fussing over it. It was Uncle Will’s car! It 
had his license number! 

Billy gasped. He rushed forward and laid 
a hand on the door-handle. “Where did you 
get this car?” he demanded. “It’s the car 
that belongs to my Uncle William—Mr. 
Cory! And you took it!” 

The mechanic paid no attention. 

113 


“It’s ours,” stated Billy. “We could have 
you arrested.” 

“ ’Tisn’t!” retorted the mechanic. “I just 
drove it out of this very garage an hour ago. 
And I just came back from Wherebee in the 
same car I drove over in. And this is it. Go 
chase yourself!” 

“It’s our license number,” retorted Billy 
hotly. “Look-a-here! Maybe you didn’t steal 
it—maybe the cars got somehow mixed up! 
Did you—did you stop at George’s Ice Cream 
Parlor in Wherebee? I—I thought that a 
car stopped there and a man came in while I 
was eating ice cream at the counter, talking 
to Tony!” 

The mechanic slapped his soiled overalls. 
“I did that,” he said. “I had iced coffee and a 
sandwich. Were you the boy sitting at the 
counter petting ice cream with a spoon?” 

“1 was!” shouted Billy. “We’d better 
phone the police at Wherebee. Gee, Uncle 
will be happy to get his own car back!” 

He rushed to the inside of the car and drew 
out the paper bag with his shoes in it. “See, 
my shoes!” he cried. “I’ll, try ’em on, if you 
don’t believe me.” 

They both laughed. And then together, 
they went to the waiting room at the gas 
station where there was a telephone. “I found 

114 





































Uncle’s car!” Billy called to the astonished 
driver of Bunty’s wag-on. “It’s right here— 
around the corner—and it wasn’t stolen! 
One of the mechanics here parked in front 
of George’s Ice Cream Parlor when we were 
there and he’d driven in from here in a new 
car of the same make, same color, same year 
—see? He didn’t know he’d taken anything 
that wasn’t his—he never even noticed the 
license plate!” 

And then he scurried to the telephone 
where the mechanic was giving an account 
of himself. “You talk to ’em,” he said. “Your 
uncle is on the wire!” 

And so it was Billy who convinced them 
that all was just a mix-up. Uncle William’s 
voice came over the wire. “Some detective 
you are, Billy. I’ll be right over with the 
other car. You wait!” 

So Bunty’s driver drove off and Billy wait¬ 
ed. 

It took Uncle exactly fifteen minutes to 
make it. Amid laughter, they drove off again 
in Uncle Will’s nice new car, none the worse 
for its adventure. The shoes returned home 
with Billy unchanged. That would have to 
wait for another drive, Uncle said—and 
another celebration. 

“Well, Billy, you’re a smart boy,” he said 
116 


for the forty-eleventh time. “You certainly 
have some eyes in your head and you know 
how to use them. How was it that you no¬ 
ticed any difference in the two cars? I can’t 
think of any even now!” 

Billy giggled. “If I tell you, you’ll call me 
Sherlock Holmes,” he said. “It was the 
clock.” 

“The clock!” Uncle smiled. “They both 
looked alike to me!” 

“They were alike.” Again Billy giggled. 
“You see, Uncle, my wrist watch you gave 
me—it is always the right time! I keep it 
going Daylight Saving. The other car was 
Standard! I knew the time by my watch. 
And then, too—the shoe-bag was missing 
and—and your windshield wasn’t dirty and 
the other car’s was!” 

Uncle Will nodded his head. “Billy,” he 
said, “you’ll never be a professor like me— 
you’ll probably be head of the detective force 
sometime and have an international reputa¬ 
tion! I’m the most grateful uncle that any 
boy ever had, and you shall invite your gang 
and we’ll all go to Wherebee—or some place 
much nicer and have a real time together! 
If it wasn’t for what you did, why just think 
what I should have lost!” 

All over him, Billy felt warm and happy. 

117 


He was glad of the training he’d been giving 
himself in observation! And, then, too, a 
detective is never baffled; he does not easily 
give up! 

It was a quarter to five by Billy’s wrist 
watch when Uncle drove to the curb in front 
of the Cory home. The Old Ark that was the 
Cory automobile had not yet reached home. 
There was still time to race through the dish¬ 
washing! And when he had done that, he 
set the table. At quarter to six there was a 
rumble on the drive that led to the Cory’s 
garage and a loud honking announced the 
Old Ark’s return home with the family! 

Billy raced out of the kitchen door. “Oh, 
say,” he yelled. “I have something to tell all 
of you! Come on in quick! Uncle Will came 
over and took me out in his new car—it’s a 
beaut! But it was stolen! Only it wasn’t 
quite stolen! Bunty’s delivery cart driver 
and I chased all around after cars and then 
we got a puncture—and then I looked around 
and I found Uncle’s car myself! I was a reg¬ 
ular detective story in myself!” 

Mother looked at Billy, and then, as she 
came into the cool dining room, she saw all 
that he had done. She opened her arms and 
hugged him. “You’re just the best boy,” she 
said, “and I know you’ll be a credit to the 
118 


detective force some day. But hurry up and 
tell us what happened!” 

Billy, chest out, kitchen apron around his 
neck, launched into a dramatic rendering of 
all that had occurred since he was left at 
home to do the dinner dishes. And he—he 
almost believed he wore a detective’s badge 
when he patted his coat lapel at the end of 
the long story. “Say, Mom, don’t you really 
think your son will make a detective soon?” 

And Mom said, “Billy, I think you belong 
on the force right now.” 



119 





























A MYSTERIOUS PAPER 

One afternoon Billy was sitting in the 
living room at home. Father was out of 
town on a business trip. Mother had a din¬ 
ner engagement and was going to leave 
Billy for the evening. He didn’t care much 
as he was deep in a story of adventure—a 
real mystery. 

He was following the story with his mouth 
wide open and he could hardly take time to 
lift his eyes from the printed page. He had 
just reached the exciting moment when the 
pearl necklace had been stolen and he could 
not wait to find out who was the guilty one. 

120 





He placed a forefinger on the page to koep 
his place and he looked up from his book. 
He was aware that Mother was saying some¬ 
thing she considered very important. This 
something was about Father—Billy was to 
tell Father something as soon as he came 
home. So Billy disengaged his attention 
from his story and concentrated on Mother’s 
words as far as he was able. “What’s that 
you said, Mother?” he inquired. “I didn’t 
hear—” 

“Well,” returned Mother, “I wish you 
would not spend your time reading those 
improbable stories, Billy! What good does 
it do you? I was just saying that I left a 
note on a bit of paper here. You haven’t 
been listening! I’ll tell you now. I want you 
to give this bit of paper with my note upon 
it to Father the instant he comes home this 
evening. It’s very important, so listen care¬ 
fully. You’re the only one of the family at 
home here and you must act with that in 
mind. I’m trying to make you realize how 
important it is and how much we all depend 
on you. I’ve just let Martha go to her sister’s 
and I’m going to be over at Mrs. Benton’s 
this evening. Martha will give you your tea 
—she wants to get off early. So you’ll be 
alone till your father comes.” 

121 


Billy wiggled his leg over the arm of the 
chair, thus getting greater comfort to face 
further instructions. “I’m listening, Moth¬ 
er,” he said. “I’ll do it.” 

“The paper, I’ll put right here,” Mother 
went on. “There’s a message on it for your 
father—very, very important indeed, Billy! 
Mr. Stow, Father’s partner, is going out of 
town: as soon as your father comes in he is 
to telephone to the number on this slip of 
paper. It’s an unusually important business 
deal they have on hand. Even Father’s sec¬ 
retary at the office doesn’t know about this, 
so you mustn’t lose time, and above all you 
mustn’t forget!” 

“All right,” returned Billy. “I won’t—I 
mean I will be sure to remember—depend 
on it!” His eyes sought out the printed page, 
but he lifted them carefully to see her take 
a bit of paper from the telephone pad and 
place it carefully on the large library table. 
It was a blue telephone pad—a blue slip of 
paper. 

“Yes, Mother,” he repeated. “I heard it 
all. Dad’s train will not be in before eight. 
I know—it’s coming from Chicago. Just the 
instant he sets foot inside this door, I’ll swoop 
down on him and tell him to call that num¬ 
ber quick as lightning!” 

122 


He returned to his story. “So long,” he 
called. “Don’t worry!” He didn’t even bother 
to get up and look at the paper that lay on 
the flat table-top desk. It could stay there till 
his father came. It was perfectly safe there. 
“Yes, I understand. If I should forget—but 
I won’t—it will mean an awful loss to Dad 
and the company. All right—I know—I 
know—” 

But Mother still stood beside the desk. 
“Billy,” she went on, “there are other di¬ 
rections on the reverse of the slip of paper. 
Of course, Father will see them, but you can 
call his attention to that. He’ll want to know 
what the message says. No need to bother 
you with it. That’s all!” 

“If Dad wants to know more, he can call 
you at the Benton’s, can’t he?” Billy felt very 
foresighted, but maybe it was safe to know 
what to do in case Dad wanted other infor¬ 
mation. 

But Mother shook her head. “No,” she re¬ 
turned. “No need. Anyway, you couldn’t, 
for the Benton’s telephone is out of order. 
The paper is enough.” 

After seeing Mother to the door and into 
the waiting taxi, since the Old Ark was at 
the garage. Billy returned to the book with 
its story of the lost pearl necklace. He read 
123 


till it was time to light the lamp. Then when 
he could see no more, he rose from the arm¬ 
chair and began to think about his supper. 
He hoped Martha had some of the chocolate 
cake that he liked—he thought he might go 
to the kitchen and ask Martha to be sure to 
give him some. 

She was there in the kitchen, already 
dressed in her best and ready to go off as 
soon as Billy’s supper was out of the way. 
“Will you be liking your tea in the library 
on a tray, Master Billy?” she inquired. “I 
can put it there beside the open fire. It will 
be more cosy-like being by yourself, maybe. 
I always say, ‘Give me an open fire and a 
tray when I’m by myself. You can eat a bit 
and enjoy a bit.’ ” 

Billy went back to the library. He threw 
himself down upon the couch before the fire, 
right in front of the library table. He was 
in pursuit of the thief whom he thought had 
the necklace when the library door was 
opened. Being deep in the story, he didn’t 
notice who had opened it. Subconsciously, he 
was aware of Martha’s presence moving 
about. He knew she set his tray down some¬ 
where and that she left. And he was not 
aware of anything more till the grandfather 
clock in the hall struck eight in chimes. 

124 



He threw himself down upon the couch 

125 

































































“Oh, goodness,” he exclaimed aloud to him¬ 
self. “Oh, my! I forgot supper was there— 
chocolate cake too!” Yes, there it was on 
the library table—cold toasted sandwich, 
lettuce, cake, baked apple and cream and a 
pitcher of milk. My, but it did look good! 
Martha must have gone by now, locking the 
kitchen entry door with her keys. He was 
alone. It felt queer to be alone—the clock 
ticking, the fire snapping, the cat rubbing up 
to his legs because it, too, feels the loneliness. 

Billy bent down and petted Methuselah, 
sleek and black and purring. “All by our¬ 
selves,” he said aloud. “Now, I’m going to 
eat—run away, and sit by the fire.” 

He propped his story book against the 
lamp on the library table. He had to take 
Methuselah down from the table. Methu¬ 
selah wasn’t hungry, but he did love to walk 
all over the table—cats always seemed to 
like to do that. 

Billy munched as he ate. And at last, the 
chocolate cake was all gone and the milk 
pitcher was empty. All that remained of the 
cold toasted chicken sandwich was a crumb 
or two on an empty plate. 

When alone, Billy usually helped by taking 
his tray into the kitchen, so he rose and car¬ 
ried it in there and came back. 


126 


The house seemed unusually still. Soon 
he was back on the couch with Methuselah 
curled close to him. The two kept each other 
company. The story progressed and the plot 
thickened. Billy hadn’t yet found out who 
took the pearl necklace. He was so busy 
following the clues of the mystery story 
that he really was surprised when the front 
door opened and shut with a bang and his 
father walked into the library. It was al¬ 
ready after ten! 

But Billy remembered. He jumped effi¬ 
ciently to the situation. “Hullo, Dad,” he 
greeted. “Say, before you take your over¬ 
coat off, there’s a paper Mom left on the 
library table for you. She said I was to tell 
you the instant you landed. You’re to call 
up the number right now: and there’s a 
message about it written on the back of the 
telephone sheet—a little blue paper—on the 
library table!” 

Billy raced to the table ahead of his father 
in his eagerness to show which paper it was, 
but that bit of paper was not there! 

“Where is it?” Father inquired. “I don’t 
see any blue paper. What did you do with 
it?” 

“Why, I didn’t touch it,” Billy gasped. 
“Mom put it right there. She’s gone to the 
127 


Benton’s. She has gone somewhere with 
them. She said it was no good to call her 
because their telephone was out. She said it 
was all there on the paper—what you were 
to do. Somebody called her. I don’t know 
who.” 

Father was searching on the table, up¬ 
setting the pen tray, looking under books. 
Billy was on all fours under the library table 
and yet nowhere was there any slip of blue 
paper. 

“It must be here somewhere!” exclaimed 
Billy. “It must, Dad. I haven’t touched it. 
Mom put it right there in plain sight. No¬ 
body but Martha and Methuselah have been 
in this room and the message couldn’t just 
get up and walk off by itself, you know.” 

They went through the library wastebas¬ 
ket, but the blue paper slip was not there 
either. It was Mr. Cory who asked about 
Martha. “You don’t suppose Cook or Martha 
took it, do you—clearing up?” he suggested. 

Billy shook his head, “Nope!” he explained. 
“Cook was out and Martha just came in here 
with my tray and then she went to her sis¬ 
ter’s. I’ll go and call her sister’s.” 

Although he reached Martha, she knew 
nothing of the slip, although she did say she 
had seen it on the table when she brought in 
128 


the tray. Mother was not to be reached at 
all, because the line was out of order. 

“You have no idea what was on the pa¬ 
per?” Mr. Cory questioned of Billy again. 
“I’ll have to send to get a car at the garage 
and drive over to the Benton’s after Moth¬ 
er,” he said. “If we can’t find that paper, it 
means a terrible delay. It is such a long 
drive into the country. Billy, do help me! 
Try to think what you did when you were 
here alone. You might absentmindedly have 
put that slip into your book as a book-marker. 
Let’s see your book!” 

Father lost Billy’s place in the mystery 
story, but there really was no bit of blue 
pad paper there at all. It was just the queer¬ 
est thing ever—a real mystery. Where had 
that paper gone? If it had been a string of 
pearls, perhaps they would have been able 
to suspect somebody. But here at home, who 
was there? Who would take a paper like that 
anyhow? Who would want it? Could any¬ 
body have slipped in while Billy was reading 
and gone off with it unnoticed? All this and 
more raced through Billy’s thoughts as the 
two ransacked every cranny of the large 
library, Billy repeating always, “But it must 
be here, Dad—it must!” 

Then the telephone bell rang. It was about 

129 


the call Dad should have made. They were 
asking him questions and Dad didn’t know 
the answer! Billy sat transfixed upon the 
library couch, paying no heed to what was 
being said on the wire. He was thinking 
back, trying to solve the mystery of that 
blue slip! It had been right there. He had 
been reading with Methuselah on the couch 
next to him. Then of course, Martha had 
come in with the tray and put it right on the 
library table. He moved toward the table 
for the tenth time and lifted the scarf that 
ran across it. Why was the scarf wet? May¬ 
be the tray was wet on its bottom part when 
Martha brought it in with the supper. Good 
gracious! That was an idea: suppose you 
put a tray down on top of a bit of blue paper 
and the under side of the tray was wet 
enough to make the library table runner 
wet—suppose—Oh, it was worth looking 
into. The slip might stick to the under side 
of the tray. 

With a suppressed whoop, Billy Cory 
rushed out to the kitchen with Methuselah 
hopefully at his heels, expecting to be let 
out. But he was not thinking of the cat. 
There stood the tray on the white porcelain 
table. It took but a moment for Billy to 
run a hand underneath it. His hand met the 


130 



His hand met the feel of a slip of paper 

131 

















































































































feel of a slip of paper adhering to the wet 
under side of the supper tray! 

He rushed back to the library waving it. 
“I found it! I solved the mystery,” he yelled 
to astonished Mr. Cory. “Here it is, Dad. It 
was stuck to the under part of my supper 
tray! I knew I could solve a mystery. Give 
me time!” 

When finally Father had conveyed the 
necessary information over the wire, he 
looked relieved. He hung up and came over 
to where Billy sat on the couch gazing into 
the glowing coals of the fire. “Son,” he said, 
that’s all right now. A few more minutes 
and it might have spelt financial loss to us 
all! Smart lad, Billy! How on earth did you 
solve the mystery?” 

Billy grinned. “Been reading mystery 
stories,” he replied. “Mom doesn’t want me 
to. She says they’re a waste of time. But I 
say they do make you think and reason and 
put two and two together, so I just went 
back over all that had happened about the 
blue paper and I reasoned till I found the 
solution of the mystery!” 

“Well, we’ll have to read some good one 
aloud to Mother, won’t we?” Father an¬ 
swered. “Guess it’s bedtime now. Time to 
turn in.” 


132 


Billy yawned. Methuselah was sound asleep 
on Billy’s lap. But Billy’s forefinger still 
marked a passage in the book he had been 
reading. “Say, Dad,” he asked, “since I did 
solve a mystery and since I did do my duty 
like a hero, what say you let me sit up till 
Mom comes. I want to finish this chapter.” 

And when Mother came back from her 
evening, there was Billy still deep in his 
story. 



133 



BILLY HAS A HOBBY 

Like most boys, Billy Cory had a hobby. 
But his hobby developed into a very exciting 
adventure. 

“How much does it cost?” Billy asked as he 
fingered the loose change in his trousers 
pocket. He had exactly forty-nine cents. 

He had pushed open the door of the shabby 
second-hand shop on Water Street with only 
the idea of looking around. Billy Cory was 
“collecting.” 


134 








The man in charge of the shop seemed to 
know nothing. His boss, he said, had gone 
out. He looked at the large Oriental plaque 
Billy indicated as being possibly within his 
purchase. “Oh,” the shopkeeper replied to 
Billy’s inquiry, “you can have that for dollar 
fifty, very cheap. Shall I wrap it up?” 

Billy shook his head. “Not now. Maybe 
later.” 

“Better now,” urged the man, “gen-u-ine 
antique.” 

But Billy Cory had gone. What was the 
use of dickering if it cost all that? They’d 
never go down to forty-nine cents. Anyway, 
why should he, Billy Cory, be possessed with 
a desire to own that queer old plaque? But 
he did want it. He knew that. Collectors are 
like this—they just want things they see to 
add to their collections. 

As Billy burst through the side door of 
his own house and came upon his mother 
puttering over her house plants at the dining 
room window, she turned to him with a smile. 
“You have the look of having found a new 
bit for your collection, Billy,” she joshed. 
“What is it this time, a Colonial candlestick 
or a sugar bowl?” 

Billy put his arm about her. “You can read 
my thoughts, can’t you, Mom? But it’s noth- 

135 


mg. I just saw something at that little old 
shop on Water Street. I came home from 
school that way. I just love to see the things 
in their window; they change every day. 
Sometimes they have very nice things too, 
even though they hardly ever know their 
real value. I could make a lot on some if I 
could buy sometimes—” he paused. “This 
time I saw a wonderful old Chinese plate. 
I’d like that.” 

Mother put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. 
“Well, son, I’m glad you didn’t waste your 
money on it,” she comforted. “You need your 
allowance for other things. That last glass 
bottle was really nothing. And the old book 
you brought home—there must be ever so 
many others like them. Why don’t you get 
a more sensible hobby?” 

Billy shook his head. “I like to run things 
down, Mom,” he defended. “Finding things 
is interesting. You read about them and you 
learn a lot. And what if I don’t strike any¬ 
thing awfully valuable, I like doing it! Real¬ 
ly, Mom, I’ve got a good start on a museum.” 

“I wish you were more practical,” sighed 
his mother. But there it ended. Billy raced 
up the stair to his own room. He was still 
longing for that Chinese plaque, queer thing! 
It would look nice right over there on the 
136 


shelf of his mantle with the other treasures 
that were his very own; the queer old book 
of 1789; the Colonial candlestick; the 
cracked Lowestoft sugar bowl; the pewter 
snuff box; the odd carved shell from the 
West Indies; and the wooden shoes Aunt 
Prescott had brought him from Holland. 

“If Mom doesn’t quite understand, my art 
teacher at school does,” said Billy to himself. 
She said she liked to “collect” too. Why go 
and buy a pair of rubbers when a queer old 
Oriental plaque down in a musty second¬ 
hand shop on Water Street was so much 
more important? 

This ramble of thoughts was in Billy Cory’s 
mind as he stood before the mantle survey¬ 
ing his treasures. But he was called from 
below. Sister’s voice in the hall: “Bill, Mother 
wants you downstairs. Mrs. Overman is here. 
It is something about your old Lowestoft 
sugar bowl.” 

Slowly Billy descended to the living room. 
He greeted the caller and waited for further 
information. He guessed that he knew what 
she wanted. She was after that sugar bowl, 
for when she had told him what it really was 
—he didn’t know till then—she had want¬ 
ed it. 

Of course, she was after it again. It 
137 


matched some old things she already had 
that had belonged to her great-great-grand¬ 
mother. 

“It’s one of my special treasures,” he pro¬ 
tested to Mrs. Overman. “Really, I don’t be¬ 
lieve I’d ever be able to get another.” 

Yet the price she offered made Billy hold 
his breath. 

Soon the deal was made. He wrapped up 
the sugar bowl and admiringly showed the 
bills to his mother, who, of course, insisted 
on his getting the needed rubbers right off. 
She even seemed to think Mrs. Overman was 
over-generous. 

So under pretext of going out to buy the 
rubbers, Billy escaped from home. Yes, he’d 
get them, he’d promised Mother. But he’d 
also run down to Water Street and buy that 
queer old plaque. Goodness, wasn’t this 
luck! Much nicer to have the plaque than 
the sugar bowl! No, he’d never, never sell 
that plaque if he bought it. Wouldn’t Miss 
Carson be crazy over it! She could tell him 
all about it. 

He lost no time in buying his treasure and 
the rubbers. But he didn’t show the former 
to Mother. He carried it, in its newspaper 
wrapping, up to his own den and stood it 
upon his mantle shelf! 

138 






































































“It sure is a beauty!” said Billy to him¬ 
self. “Greenish ground like jade.” Miss 
Carson talked a lot about jade. She had 
taught Billy the color of jade pottery with 
its strange, varied colors and the design 
of raised enamel figures. “I’ll bet that’s 
worth something,” Billy went on to himself. 
“I found something this time all right!” 

Then he had a bright thought. “Why wait 
for Miss Carson? Couldn’t the man at the 
Museum tell him all about it right now? It 
was only four-thirty and he could reach the 
Museum by five. 

It did not take long for Billy to wrap up 
his treasure carefully and rush out the back 
way toward the bus that went past the city 
Museum. He had spent many of his after¬ 
noons there, wandering about. He already 
knew some of the guards. 

But it was really almost closing time as 
Billy got there. And the guard refused to 
let him in. Although Billy undid the plaque 
and showed what the urgency of his errand 
was, the guard refused and pointed to the 
clock. 

Luck, for the second time that day, was, 
nevertheless, on the side of Billy Cory. For 
at that very moment a tall man in gray came 
from a hidden doorway and saw Billy with 
140 


his great Oriental plaque, begging the guard 
for something. He stopped. What was that 
lad up to with such an antique? He paused. 

“What is it, son?” he asked. “It’s just 
closing time. Where did you get that?” 

He referred to the big Chinese plaque in 
tones of great respect. He almost sounded 
as though he thought Billy had no business 
to have it. 

Billy defended himself. “I just wanted to 
ask somebody about my plaque,” he ex¬ 
plained. “It belongs to a collection I’m mak¬ 
ing.” 

The man bent over the treasure. He ex¬ 
amined it very carefully for several seconds. 
He listened attentively to Billy’s account of 
his collection and the acquisition of this last 
treasure. He invited Billy back into his of¬ 
fice right in face of the fact that the guard 
was closing up and the clock indicated past 
five. 

When they were in the office he explained. 
“Yes, this is a treasure indeed, it really is! 
Famille Vert,” he said. It was old Chinese, 
probably late Seventeenth century or early 
Eighteenth, a rare specimen. But since the 
art had been much cheapened in the Eighties, 
it was easy to understand how Billy had se¬ 
cured this. “There’s a great deal that has 
141 


no actual value, young man,” the director 
of the Museum explained. “Somehow, 
though, you just hit it! It’s worth a good 
deal. It is at least 200 years old. Do you 
want to sell it?” 

Billy Cory’s heart pounded. And the sum 
that the director offered was huge. He really 
wanted it. He said he knew they’d vote to 
buy it, for sure. Maybe they could make it 
a bit more. In the gathering dimness of the 
afternoon he led Billy upstairs to the hall 
where the antique Chinese potteries stood 
upon their glass shelves, glorious in coloring 
and design. 

It was then that Billy knew what he was 
going to do. “I think,” he said, “I’d like to 
give this to the Museum. I can come here 
and see it, you know. It only cost me a dollar- 
fifty and I couldn’t make all that money on it 
and feel right. Besides, I’d be so proud to 
be able to give a real thing to the Museum! 
Even if I just had luck, I’d like to make it 
count that way!” 

Together they put the great Chinese an¬ 
tique in the safekeeping of an inner room 
that the director unlocked. The director ex¬ 
pressed his thanks most graciously and said 
the other directors would also. Then he add¬ 
ed, “If ever you want to go further with 
142 


your collection, you have chosen an inter¬ 
esting hobby. I have something to suggest. 
Now, how would you like to come here Sat¬ 
urday mornings and afternoons and work 
at little odd jobs? We need a boy whose in¬ 
terests lead him in such a direction. You 
might even work up, and you surely would 
learn much that would be of help to you in 
your own private collecting.” 

There wasn’t much to say except, “I’d like 
it, sir. I’ll come.” Then the two walked to¬ 
gether to the director’s waiting car and he 
dropped Billy at his very own door just as 
the family was finishing the soup course. 

Sister’s eyes were big as she heard the 
story. As for Mother and Father, what they 
said was: “That was just luck, but it was 
fine! Great! We congratulate you!” 

“I got my old galoshes too, Mom.” And he 
added, “Want to come with me Saturday and 
see my plaque in the Museum? Won’t Miss 
Carson be interested!” 



143 






A BIRTHDAY 

Billy Cory had a sister. Usually, she was 
as deeply concerned in her own doings as 
Billy was in his. Yet always the two were 
on terms of real affection and usually at 
Christmas, birthday, and other holiday times 
they shared the family bond that brought 
the two together. Thus Billy Cory’s birthday 
became not so much an adventure for him 
as for his sister Anne, who wanted to give 
him a suitable present. 

It happened this way: 

Mother gave a farewell hug to Anne while 
144 
















Billy ran back into the house to get the lunch 
box Father had forgotten. “Anne, dear,” 
said Mother, “I’m afraid we can’t get back 
in time for Billy’s birthday—without Father 
and me, you’ll have to be the one to make the 
day a happy one for Billy!” 

But Billy came dashing back from the pan¬ 
try with the lunch box. The motor at the 
curb purred and while Billy waved again to 
his father, Mother gave Anne’s hand a re¬ 
assuring squeeze. Dad and Mom were off! 
Down the street went the car, leaving Anne 
and Billy beside the gate. 

Inside the house was Mrs. Kelley, come to 
do the housework in Martha’s vacation. 
Neither Billy nor Anne knew Mrs. Kelley. 
And it seemed unusually lonely as they 
turned to go back into the seemingly vacant 
house that was home. The convention to 
which Dad and Mom were bound was a long 
way off. It meant an absence of ten long 
days, as Mother had hinted, probably longer. 
And the two just had each other, and Mrs. 
Kelley. 

As they went to school that morning, Anne 
said, “You know, Billy, they won’t be back 
for the nineteenth. But I’m going to take 
Mother’s place. We’ll have a party, don’t 
you worry!” 


145 


And Billy replied: “Urn-hum. But I don’t 
care about any party. There’s just one thing 
I want and I’m not going to get it. So noth¬ 
ing else matters much.” 

Anne made no reply. She knew what it 
was—a dog. When Billy broached the sub¬ 
ject, Father always said, “Yes, some time, 
when I can get you the right kind.” Uncle 
Bill was going to see to it. But Uncle Bill 
lived in California. 

“I know what I’m going to get,” pursued 
Billy. “I shall have a new suit from Dad, a 
ten-dollar bill from Uncle, or a check. Moth¬ 
er’ll give me a new sweater and a pair of 
Sunday shoes. I don’t want any party if I 
can’t have a dog!” 

Anne sighed. It was no use to say any¬ 
thing. She had already said all there was to 
say. And anyway, Billy kept repeating, “I 
don’t want any birthday unless I get a dog!” 
He added this time, “If I got a dog, he could 
go with me on my paper route and help carry 
papers; I could teach him tricks. He’d fetch 
our mail from the postman; he could ride in 
the Old Ark or the new one and take care of 
it for Dad when Dad left it. He’d be a watch 
dog for Mom here at home. You’d like him, 
too. What’s the use of getting presents of 
clothes on one’s birthday? I don’t care about 

146 


clothes, I get ’em all the time. I want a dog!” 

They walked on toward school without any 
more conversation. Conversation was use¬ 
less. 

Yet the idea of it pursued Anne. 

She had only three dollars to her name— 
oh, yes, and thirteen cents left from last 
month’s allowance. And that would hardly 
buy a dog. 

As Anne pondered, it seemed hopeless to 
buy a birthday present for Billy, since there 
appeared to be nothing Billy desired except 
a dog. She could not buy a toy dog for a joke. 
No, that would be dreadful. Nor did Billy 
need a new necktie. Candy—what’s candy? 
And cake—what’s a mere cake? 

While helping to set the supper table, Anne 
consulted Mrs. Kelley. She renewed the sub¬ 
ject while helping to make beds mornings 
before school. At this time Billy was off with 
his papers. He had started in business. He 
was saving to buy a bicycle. Always, Anne 
thought about that dog Billy wanted so 
much. And it was always one day nearer to 
the birthday! 

At a pet shop she stopped to examine pup¬ 
pies. They cost far more than she could hope 
to pay. Twenty-five dollars was just dirt 
cheap, the man said. An Airedale, or a Scot- 
147 


tie, or a Shepherd, or a Boston bull—all of 
them cost so much! “I’ll think it over,” said 
Anne to the shopkeeper, and she backed out 
of the shop where a gaudy macaw screeched 
after her derisively. 

Everywhere Anne went she saw dogs— 
running around the street, on leash with 
their masters, barking at cats in yards, yap¬ 
ping from parked car windows, on porches 
sunning themselves, gnawing bones by back 
porches. And every dog evidently belonged 
to somebody who valued him. 

Then on the radio one time, she tried for a 
contest. She didn’t get the dog that was the 
prize. But soon after she heard on the radio 
about the Bide-a-Wee Dog Home. She tele¬ 
phoned them. At the time it appeared that 
they had no Scottie, or Boston bull, or Shep¬ 
herd, or Airedale. They said they only had 
three dogs, each of them not yet ready to be 
taken out. The remainder had been placed, 
but if any new ones came in they’d let Anne 
know. And she heard nothing. Maybe, Anne 
considered, they thought that a girl wasn’t 
responsible enough to take out a pet if not 
backed by her mother or father. 

Mother’s friend, Mrs. Wolcott, heard about 
Anne’s dilemma. She met Anne one day and 
drove her home from school in her car—the 
148 




















































































day Billy stayed for ball practice in the school 
yard. Mrs. Wolcott said, “I do believe, Anne, 
that I know some people who have a bull pup. 
They’re going out of town and they want to 
find a home for it. Billy’d love that dog. I’m 
sure your father would approve. We’ll run 
right over and look at it!” 

Yet Anne again had bad luck. For when 
the two reached the house that day, they 
found the family had already left and the 
puppy had been given away! Anne almost 
cried with disappointment. 

But Mrs. Wolcott was very kind. She gave 
Anne a box of candy. She was going out of 
town herself. She tried to be comforting. 
She said she had to go tomorrow and was 
going out of town, but that if she got back 
before the nineteenth, she’d surely telephone 
Anne and hunt up a dog for Billy’s birthday. 
But she’d want to know all about the dog 
before they bought it. One should. She could 
promise nothing definite. But she hoped she 
might help. 

There too nothing happened. She may 
have been rushed and she probably forgot 
all about Billy’s birthday. She had much to 
do in the city. Anne couldn’t blame her for 
forgetting. 

Meanwhile, the nineteenth was very near. 

150 


Mrs. Kelley made a cake. Anne ordered ice 
cream. And secretly, Anne invited all Billy’s 
gang to a supper “surprise.” It was only 
two days before the birthday. All Billy ever 
said was, “I wish I had a dog.” 

Presents for Billy came from Father and 
Mother, in Anne’s care. These were locked 
in Father’s study closet. Anne had the key. 
Meandering through shops after school try¬ 
ing to find a birthday gift for Billy, all Anne 
found was a china dog on a penholder for 
Billy’s desk. He’d like that. But it was not 
at all like having a real dog. 

She bought a new pencil box with Billy 
Cory in gilt letters printed upon it. He’d like 
that too. And there were other trinkets—a 
boat-model to be made and an airplane. 
Billy loved so to whittle and carve models. 

Then after school one day, when time was 
very short, she put on her hat and went out. 
She told Mrs. Kelley she was going to look 
in at the pet shop again. She felt very blue. 

Down Main Street trudged Anne, just to 
look in at the pet shop and see if they might 
come down in price or charge a dog. In that 
case, when Dad returned, he might help pay 
for it. And there was still her allowance to 
draw on. 

Then, as she walked down Main Street, 
151 


what should she see but a puppy—a bull pup 
too! He was a dear. As Anne watched him, 
it was evident that he was not with anyone. 
In fact, he behaved as if lost. Her heart beat 
wildly as she came nearer to him. “Come 
here. Come, puppy!” she called in accents of 
friendly concern meant to interest the dog 
and give him confidence. “Come, good dog¬ 
gie! Nice doggie! Good dog!” 

Of course he came. What little lost dog 
would not? He put out a red tongue and 
tried to lick Anne’s hand. She was right in 
front of Wilkin’s Grocery Store when this 
happened. And seeing Anne with the puppy, 
one of the Wilkin’s clerks came out. He 
knew Anne, for the Corys traded there. 

It appeared that he had been watching 
that puppy. “Huh!” he said. “He doesn’t be¬ 
long around here—I guess his folks lost him 
or maybe they just went off an’ left him. 
He’s been hanging ’round here a long time. 
Maybe he got lost from some car. He won’t 
go away—been around here a whole day. I 
gave him some dog biscuit yesterday. If you 
want a dog, you’d better take him!” 

So Anne bought some dog biscuit and 
promptly fed the puppy. He wore no license. 
And she took him home. Billy fortunately 
was off with the gang. Mrs. Kelley helped 
152 


her wash the pup. They dried him nicely with 
a rough towel. And Anne made a bed for 
him in the room over the garage. Since Fa¬ 
ther had the car, Billy was not likely to go 
there. He’d never suspect, and Anne’s se¬ 
cret was safe. 

Of course, Anne was supposed to notify 
the police and find out if anybody had lost 
him. This she did, but there was no report 
of a missing bull pup, so there was still a 
happy prospect that nobody might claim the 
dog. He was sleeping in the garage. He was 
really very hungry and tired. And he made 
no sound. The police said they’d let Anne 
know if they found the owner, and mean¬ 
while she might keep the pup. 

Next morning was the birthday morning. 
No call had come from police headquarters 
to claim the puppy. Anne felt happy and 
anticipated the party—with both the little 
dog and his gang to greet Billy. He would 
have the loveliest surprise. 

But it was not safe to tell Billy yet. She 
gave him the pencil box and the boat models 
and he liked them. He didn’t even look for 
a dog. 

But if Anne had not heard from the police 
department by the time of the party, she 
could give Billy the dog and tell him she 

153 


hoped they could keep him; and if not, 
there’d surely be a dog when Dad came 
home. 

Anne could scarcely wait for school to be 
out that day. She raced home. Mrs. Kelley 
met her sadly, shaking her head, her eyes 
filling with tears. “I’m sorry, Miss Anne,” 
she said. “They come for the puppy while 
you were at school, the po-lice did, leastways 
they called up. Then a man with a car came. 
The chauffeur came in an’ got him from the 
garage an’ took him off. Poor dear! He 
didn’t want to go either—” 

Anne swallowed hard. But if it had to 
happen, better happen that way. She dashed 
up to her room and tried not to cry. It must 
never be known to Billy—all this! 

But Mrs. Kelley was talking: “Sure, I told 
’m all about it,” she said, following Anne. 
“He said it was orders he should take the 
dog an’ his master’d call and pay you for 
finding him—a reward, he said. But I told 
him as how you’d wanted a dog for your 
brother’s birthday an’ how this one had just 
walked into your arms, Miss Anne—an’ you 
trying to make a happy birthday for Master 
Billy! And his folks ’way off too far to come 
an’ get him the only birthday present he 
really wanted!” 


154 


But here the full account of the sad hap¬ 
pening had to stop. For there was the un¬ 
mistakable rush of Billy’s steps on the back 
porch. He was happy. He caught a glimpse 
of the party table and they had to shut the 
door and tell him the rest—a “little party 
with his gang.” He really liked it. He ran up 
to get dressed. “A party!” he cried. But they 
shooed him back to his room. 

Not long after, Fatty Williams arrived, 
Sam, Mark, Buddy and all the rest. Each 
had some manner of gift. But none had 
brought a dog. And as for Anne, she hur¬ 
ried about fixing things and trying hard not 
to remember the puppy. She laid the snap¬ 
pers on the table. She put candy and nuts 
where they belonged. She lit the cake. 

Upstairs the gang was having a grand 
time playing some game Uncle had sent— 
or maybe it was Aunt Prescott. Suddenly the 
doorbell rang and because Mrs. Kelley was 
in the kitchen, Anne answered the doorbell. 

At the door was a gentleman. It was just 
dusk and in the low hall light Anne did not 
recognize him. He held a squirming brown 
bull puppy in his arms. It was the pup, red 
tongue and all! 

“Oh,” said Anne, a lump in her throat, “I 
really don’t want any reward for taking care 
155 


of him—it was fun. I thought maybe he 
didn’t have any home and was lost, you see! 
I wouldn’t take anything from you. Please 
—I don’t want my brother to see! Don’t let 
the dog bark, please! Just take him away. 
I’m so sorry—” 

But the gentleman laughed. “I didn’t ex¬ 
actly come for that,” he said. “My man told 
me the story of your brother’s wanting a 
dog. I’m a friend of Mrs. Wolcott’s too. 
This is the dog she tried to get for you long 
ago. Its master gave him to me when he 
left town. I just took him to give him a 
home. And he was lost. Now, I think he 
ought to belong to you and your brother. 
I’m sure the pup will like you better than he 
does me! I want you to have him for your 
brother’s birthday. I hope I’m not too late!” 

“Oh, I do want him,” breathed Anne with 
a happy gasp of joy. “Oh, yes, we will make 
him happy. And my brother’ll just be so 
happy! Oh, thank you! ” 

“He’ll be happy all right,” returned the 
gentleman, “and I really find him a care. I 
have no yard—he’d only run off and get lost 
and probably come to you again, I’m sure.” 
He laughed. “I’m as happy as you to find a 
home for him,” he said. Then he was gone. 

Anne rushed into the kitchen with the pup 
156 


in her arms. “Sh-h!” she said to Mrs. Kelley. 
“The pup is ours. He just came back. Let’s 
put him in the dining room and call Billy and 
the boys!” 

“Billy, time for the cake,” called Anne. 

The gang came with a rush. But it was 
Billy who opened the dining room door and 
saw the bull pup. “For me?” he screamed 
delightedly. “Oh, Anne, how grand! From 
you? Oh, you gave me the only present I 
really wanted. I’ll never forget this birth¬ 
day, never! Oh, thank you, thank you, 
Anne!” And while the puppy licked his 
hands, Billy petted him. 

There were joyous barkings and wild yells 
from the gang. 

“What’ll I call him?” Billy asked of Anne. 

“Buster,” said Anne. “That’s his name 
already. Don’t give him too much cake—at 
least not any more than you can help. I have 
a box of dog biscuit for you to give him.” 

Oh, it certainly was a happy birthday all 
right! 

And maybe, Buster was even happier than 
Billy, though probably Anne was happiest of 
them all. 


157 



A LOST TREASURE 

It would indeed be fine if we could all find 
treasures. Many boys have found treasures, 
but none of their stories is stranger than the 
story of how Billy Cory found his treasure. 

“I’ll look out for everything! Mrs. Wilson 
will be over,” repeated Billy, smiling reas¬ 
suringly up at the back seat where Mother 
looked down, a bit anxiously. She hadn’t 
wanted to leave, but she and Father together 
owned the place that was home now, and it 
was to help home that she had gone away. 
Dad was in Hampton and had telegraphed 
for her. 

“Don’t you worry!” said Billy. “Every¬ 
thing will be all right!” 

158 







The bus started in a blur of noise. He 
stood, waving, until it became a mere speck 
on the horizon. He was all alone now. Mrs. 
Wilson would stay with him till Mother got 
back, and he wondered when she would be 
over. Slowly he turned up the driveway and 
climbed the hill toward the house, while 
Buster, with his tail down, followed at his 
heels. 

He tried to whistle, but—the whistle died 
down. It looked as if their home were just 
as good as gone! Grandfather Cory had left 
the place to Father, but it had been willed to 
him by a strange old man, a friend of his 
whose son had run away to sea and disap¬ 
peared. Grandfather’s will had said that if 
the son ever came back, the house would 
belong rightfully to him. 

Indirectly, yet certainly, Father had just 
heard that the son of the strange old man 
was living. He had been located and Grand¬ 
father Cory’s will had said that the place 
was to be his if he were ever found. It was 
hard, but it was fair! 

It meant that Billy must go to Hampton 
to live. There would be no more good times 
with the gang and they had just built the 
cabin on Round Top, too. 

As he unlocked the kitchen door the tele- 
159 


phone rang. Billy burst into the kitchen and 
caught up the receiver. The room seemed 
strange and lonesome, even though Sport, 
the cat, was still curled up in the rocker 
where they had left her a few minutes be¬ 
fore. “Hello!” he called. “Oh, Mrs. Wilson! 
Mom’s just gone. If you’re coming over 
soon, I’d like to go on a hike up Round Top 
with the gang. Mom said I could go. I won’t 
go till you come—but they’re going to start 
pretty soon.” He waited, listening to the 
voice on the other end of the wire. “What? 
What’s that! You—you can’t come?” 

He stopped in dismay. There was nobody 
else whom he could get to come and stay. 
He knew, because his mother had tried. 
“Never mind,” he said into the mouthpiece. 
“I’ll manage to find someone. Of course, you 
can’t help things happening to you that 
way!” 

For a moment he stood looking blankly out 
of the window—down the hill, across the 
road, over the buckwheat field that made a 
red carpet at the foot of Round Top. What 
a day for a hike up there! “Forget it,” he 
said to himself. “You have to stay here and 
look after things. There isn’t anybody else 
to feed the stock and to watch for the incu¬ 
bator chicks to hatch.” 


160 


He went to the red rocker and scratched 
the cat under her ears so that she purred. 
But the cat was no company. He wondered 
what to do. He saw the dishes stacked by 
the sink and he took the pan and began 
washing them. “Mom likes to keep things 
looking nice,” he thought. “I’ll do it, too.” 

Then he glanced at the stove. He took off 
the lids and put on coal. He was putting them 
back when Buster’s tail began to wag very 
hard, and Billy looked out and saw Shorty 
coming up the path. 

“Say, I can’t go,” he cried. “Hike it with¬ 
out me—but, say! I’m all alone here and I 
wish you’d come back and stay tonight! Can 
you?” 

“What do you suppose you are—a watch¬ 
dog?” Shorty retorted. “Can’t you lock up 
the house and let Buster take care of it?” 

Billy shook his head. “Mrs. Wilson just 
called she couldn’t come. She has to go down 
to Liston to stay with her daughter there. I 
can’t go and leave the place. I’ve got some 
chicks hatching.” 

“Too bad!” murmured Shorty. “I tell you 
what—I’m going to stay with you. The 
gang’s down at Mark Henderson’s, and I’m 
going to call them and get them to come up 
here.” 


161 


“It’s stupid for you—hanging out here 
with me,” said Billy. “There’s nothing much 
to do!” 

“Got any eats?” asked Shorty. “They’d 
help.” 

“Come on and see!” Billy led the way into 
the pantry. 

“They’re having swell eats up there on 
Round Top,” Shorty said. “Roger has Frank¬ 
furters for the whole gang. And Mark Hen¬ 
derson’s mother made a chocolate cake. M-m. 
You got any?” 

The cake box was empty. 

“Mrs. Wilson was to have cooked things,” 
said Billy. “I can’t find anything—you see. 
Mom left so suddenly she didn’t have time to 
get things ready. I guess there isn’t any 
chocolate cake—” Then, because he wanted 
to please Shorty, who had given up so much 
for him, he suggested, “I can make some 
though. I’ve seen Mom do it, lots of times.” 
Billy hunted for the cook book but could not 
find it. 

“Never mind,” he said. “I know what goes 
into it. We’ll have a layer cake with fudge 
filling!” 

The yellow bowl was brought out, and 
Shorty tied an apron around Billy’s waist, 
while they howled with laughter. “Oh, you 

162 



Shorty tied an apron around Billy's waist 

163 





























































































































































cook!” Shorty grinned. “Say, when the 
gang knows we had a whole cake for just us 
two, won’t they wish they had stayed with 
us? I bet for supper I could cook Frankfur¬ 
ters, too, if I had ’em!” 

“You butter the pans and get the flour, 
Short!” 

So Shorty went off to the pantry, where he 
picked up the first jar he saw. Billy took the 
lid off and sniffed. “You think that’s flour?” 
he asked doubtfully. 

“Sure!” Shorty put a finger into the jar 
and licked it reflectively. 

But the mixture did not thicken as it 
should. It took more cups than Billy’s moth¬ 
er ever used. Yet it went into the cake pans. 
And the two started the fudge. Every few 
minutes they peeked at the cake. “B\mny 
looking cake!” mused Shorty after some 
time had passed. 

“Oh, it’s all right,” Billy answered, though 
inwardly a bit doubtful. “Look out, Short! 
That fudge filling’s scorched! I can tell by 
the smell!” He dumped the pans on the 
bread board. The mixture surely was queer 
—not a bit like cake! “I knew something 
was the matter with that flour,” Billy de¬ 
fended himself. “I bet it was something else 
and not flour at all!” 


164 


Shorty's face wore a deep frown. “The 
filling is gone,” he announced. “Let’s see 
your cake. Gee, it looks like a custard gone 
to seed!” 

“What do they make custard out of?” 
asked Billy. “Eggs and milk? Well, I put 
’em in here. But it’s all thick and tough!” 

Shorty put the burned fudge pan into the 
sink and ran water into it. “I bet that what 
we thought was flour was cornstarch!” In 
spite of himself he grinned. So did Billy. 
“Tough luck,” he said. “Nothin’ to do— 
nothin’ to eat!” They wandered out upon 
the porch to sit on the steps by Buster. 

“Have you heard anything at all about 
what’s going on in Hampton?” Shorty in¬ 
quired. “Is that man really alive? I mean 
the man whose father owned this house.” 

Billy nodded and went on chewing the end 
of a grass stem. “Guess so!” he answered. 

“Did Ned Smiffin down at the store ever 
tell you any funny stories about that—that 
queer old man who built this house?” asked 
Shorty. “He did me!” 

“Yea-a,” returned Billy. “I asked my dad 
about it. He said he guessed it was just a 
story.” 

“About that man having a treasure?” 

Billy wagged his head. 

165 


“He said it was buried right around here ,” 
declared Shorty, rubbing Buster’s silky ears. 

“Wish it was! We’ll need it, goodness 
knows, if we lose everything!” said Billy. 

“Maybe we could find it!” 

“How should Ned Smiffin know?” 

“Well, he says he saw it when he was a 
kid—that queer old man showed it to him. 
Ned Smiffin says he saw it—lots and lots of 
money all in a big black tin box—but after 
the old man died it never was found. Let’s 
look for it,” Shorty suggested. “You can’t 
tell—there might be something to it!” 

“Where would we look?” 

It took quite a bit of time to decide. After 
that, with pick and spade, they made the 
rounds of the orchard. Buster, tied to the 
house, kept guard, though they did not go 
far. They upturned big stones; they investi¬ 
gated a mound in the orchard; they worked 
very hard. “Might be here!” one of them 
would suggest. “Or here!” the other would 
say. By this time they were not only begin¬ 
ning to believe whole-heartedly in the ex¬ 
istence of the treasure, but they were con¬ 
fident that they would find it. 

“How about letting the gang in on this?” 
Shorty asked. “What do you think?” 

Billy thought the others might help. 

166 


The two boys hunted until dusk, then they 
left the shovel and the pick and went into 
the house to forage for supper. Over a hot 
dish of canned beans they continued to talk 
about the treasure. Shorty was of the opin¬ 
ion that they could spend the evening hunt¬ 
ing in the house. “It might be inside,” he 
insisted. “It might, you know.” He looked 
about. “Better lock up tight tonight,” he 
added. 

They locked up tight and let Buster loose 
outdoors. But a catch on the hall window 
was not right—a screw was missing. 

The wind, too, was coming up, and it 
looked as though a storm was on its way. 
The wind sang in the chimney. The blinds 
rattled. Shorty started at every new sound. 
“What’s that?” he kept asking. “What’s 
that noise, Billy?” 

They listened. First, it was a mouse in the 
pantry; then it was a queer sound outside 
somewhere. “Buster’s scratching on the 
porch with his claws,” Billy suggested. “Or 
maybe the wind’s doing it.” 

“Sounds like footsteps to me,” said Shorty. 
“Do you suppose somebody saw us digging 
for the treasure?” 

“Shucks!” said Billy. “You’re just jumpy!” 

Shorty subsided. 


167 


But the noises continued. They grew 
stranger and more frequent. Shorty’s eyes 
were wide. “I know somebody’s outside,” he 
insisted. 

“Buster’s on guard,” answered Billy. But 
though he went to the door and whistled, 
Buster did not come! 

“He’s gone off hunting rabbits,” declared 
Shorty. “Lots of good Buster is!” 

“Then I’m going to see what’s up!” said 
Billy suddenly. “I’m the one who’s left here 
to look out for things. You stay here!” He 
was out of the door before his chum could 
stop him. 

Shorty stood in the doorway, straining his 
eyes to catch another glimpse of Billy as he 
disappeared in the darkness. He thought he 
saw an outline of a figure that dashed from 
the depths of the dark clump of cedars be¬ 
low the house. He could not see what it was. 
Then, unmistakably, there was the sound of 
a scuffle. 

And then came Billy’s call: “Short! Short! 
Short!” 

It was a cry for help! In an instant Shorty 
forgot everything else and dashed after 
Billy into the blackness down by the cedars 
on the hill. 

To Shorty as he dashed off to help Billy 
168 


it seemed evident that someone must have 
watched them as they hunted for treasure 
that afternoon. 

Shorty’s heart thumped wildly—his one 
thought was to get to Billy. His foot slipped. 
He tripped over something that moved. He 
started to pick himself up—his hand en¬ 
countered something furry. It was Buster’s 
cold nose that touched his cheek! 

At that moment he heard Billy’s voice. 
“Oh, you fellows! You thought you’d get 
something on us! You didn’t though!” De¬ 
risive squeals went up from the gang. “We 
did, too! We saw you, lookin’ in at the win¬ 
dow!” 

“Well, we might’ve known it was you,” 
came from Shorty. “But there was a reason 
why we had a right to get jumpy. We know 
something, Billy and I do. “We did some¬ 
thing this afternoon—something you’d like 
to know about!” 

“So did we do something,” yelled Fatty 
Brown. “We roasted hot dogs! We had 
chocolate cake!” 

“So did we have chocolate cake. Didn’t 
we, Billy?” Shorty squealed. 

And Billy, overcome with laughter, de¬ 
clared, between giggles, “Sure! Oh, you 
ought to have seen our cake! Some cake, 
169 


that! I’ll bet yours wasn’t like it! You ought 
to’ve been around! You missed it, you did!” 

“A whole cake—fudge fillin’, too!” said 
Shorty. “Eh, Billy?” 

“Oh, was that what you did—just stuff 
cake?” Roger sniffed. “We did somethin’ 
worth while! We started a chimney for our 
gang’s cabin—that’s what we did!” 

“Say, Billy, you sure missed it!” exclaimed 
Brownie Bates. “An’ I’ll bet you did some¬ 
thing here besides eat cake!” 

“Who said we ate cake?” Shorty inquired. 
“Did anybody?” 

“You got any left?” 

“Come on in out of the storm,” suggested 
Billy. 

“We just came over to put little Billy to 
bed!” declared Phil Wilson. “We’re going 
to stay with him all night, so’s to see noth¬ 
ing happens to him. We planned it all there 
in our cabin on Round Top, and as many as 
could just came along. Some had to go home 
—James J. and his pal—an’ the rest. But 
we came over to make it hot for Billy an’ 
Shorty, ’cause they backed out.” 

“They did not back out,” put in Roger. 
“We came along to give Billy a good time. 
An’ we wanted to see if we could get him 
worked up over noises. Gee! When Buster 
170 


was out on the porch and scratching 
hard, I thought I’d perish! Beany began 
thumpin’ with his foot so that you wouldn’t 
think somebody friendly was patting Bus¬ 
ter.” 

The gang howled over the joke. "Say, you 
an’ Short, what’ve you been doing anyhow?” 
Roger asked. "You goin’ to get to keep on 
living here, Billy Cory?” 

“Don’t know,” Billy Cory answered. 
"Things look pretty tough just now. Dad 
wants to do the right thing, of course. But 
say, that's what is bothering me; suppose we 
found something here in this lot—or some- 
wheres ’round this place? Would it be ours 
or that man’s—if he got things?” 

"What would you find?” Roger inquired. 

"You wait an’ I’ll tell you,” Billy answered 
as he led the way into the kitchen. "Look out 
and wipe your feet, there! I’m housekeeper 
here! No rough-house now!” he urged. 
“What do you say that I get some apples and 
we pop corn? You just wait till you hear 
about it! Don’t you let on, Short! Don’t you 
do it!” 

"What do you take me for?” retorted 
Shorty. "Look out, Roger! That chair be¬ 
longs to the cat!” There was a wild hubbub 
as the gang settled itself. 

171 


“Now,” said Billy, trying to look impres¬ 
sive, “you all know how things are here. 
Well, Shorty came along just after Mom 
went, and he said if I wasn’t goin’ on the 
hike, he wasn’t either—good old Short! We 
got to talking. He says that Ned Smiffin told 
him that there was a box of treasure maybe 
buried ’round here!” He paused. “Now 
then, what’d you say if we’d be the ones to 
find it? And if we did, wouldn’t it be ours?” 

“Sure, it’d belong to us!” Roger and Fatty 
insisted. 

“Sure,” echoed the rest. 

“It wouldn’t go with the house?” 

They were sure it would not. “You don’t 
have to own a desert island to go there an’ 
find treasure, do you?” demanded Beany. 

“That’s what I say,” cried Shorty. “And 
Ned Smiffin says he saw the box once when 
he was a kid. He says it is true! He says 
other people know it. When that man’s son 
went off—you know he ran away from home 
’cause his dad wanted him to go into an 
office an’ work—and he wanted to go off to 
sea an’ have adventures—well, he never 
came back. And the old man was ever so cut 
up. He began getting queer. He lived all 
alone—only a housekeeper to look after 
things. An’ he went in for reading fortunes 
172 


by the stars—an’ he’d never want to see any¬ 
body—an’ he’d spend most of his time out 
in a study that was out in our shed then. He 
was ever so interested in history and things 
like that; he had lots of queer books—the 
kind most people don’t read. And Ned Smif- 
fin says once when he was little, he came 
over the fields and he was pickin’ berries— 
and he looked ’round an’ he saw that funny 
old man with a tin box under his arm—” 

“What sort of a box?” Beany wanted to 
know. 

“Can’t you hear? He said a tin box, didn’t 
he?” said Roger. 

“Go on,” ordered Roger. “What then?” 

“Well, the funny old man called to him. 
He said, ‘What will I do with it? What will 
I do with it? He will never come back— 
never—never! I think a heap of it, and the 
folks down there in the village—they 
wouldn’t understand. It’s worth a lot—but 
nobody shall get it! What’ll I do with it?’ ” 

“Oh, gee!” murmured Roger. 

“An’ Ned Smiffin says that he began dig¬ 
ging—” 

“Where?” 

“Down in the orchard by the fence where 
the berries grow—” 

“We hunted there,” said Shorty, “but we 


173 


didn’t find anything!” He took up the story. 
“Ned Smiffin said he saw the money! He told 
his father and his father went an’ looked, 
but nobody ever found it—and nobody ever 
knew what happened to that box!” 

“We’ll get it,” Roger said. “Say, it’s awful 
late. We ought to put Billy Cory to bed!” 

Billy wagged his head. “Little fellows like 
you ought to’ve been in dreamland long 
ago,” he retorted. “We’d better pile in now, 
so’s we can get up an’ at things tomorrow 
early. You got to go home an’ do your 
chores, I suppose? But you can come ’long 
back and we’ll hunt! I’ll bet with all of us 
there’ll be something doing!” 

Then, just as they were starting for bed, 
Buster began barking. 

“Huh?” Billy paused as he lifted the stove 
lids to put coal into the stove before going 
upstairs. “What’d you say about Buster’s 
not being a good watchdog, Short? Listen 
there!” 

The dog stood up with his paws on the 
window sill, then ran to the door and whined 
to be let out. 

Then he began to bark again. The gang 
peered through the dark window back of 
Shorty. Billy fixed the stove drafts, locked 
the cellarway door. He came up behind 
174 


Beany. “There’s something doing—for sure 
this time,” he declared. “Buster is no fool 
dog! Somebody is around /” 

“Oh, likely somebody down on the road— 
maybe another dog,” suggested Phil. 

“Not that bark!” declared Billy. “No, sir! 
That bark means something! I’ve got to see 
what’s up!” 

“What’d you do, if it was somebody?” 
asked Roger. 

“What business has anybody to be ’round 
at this time of night?” exclaimed Phil. “Say, 
fellows, did you see that?” 

The gang drew closer to the window. They 
even flung it up and leaned out so that the 
rain beat upon their faces. 

“Light’s moving down there.” 

“ ’Tisn’t a lantern!” 

“Say! It’s a man!” 

“Sure! It’s a man!” 

“Hadn’t you better open the door an’ let 
Buster out, Billy?” Roger asked. “He’d go 
for anybody!” 

“Some of us had better go along, don’t 
you think?” said Shorty. 

Billy unbolted the kitchen door and took 
a firm hold on Buster’s collar. “All right,” 
he said. “Anybody want to come with me? I 
don’t mind going alone!” 

175 


Buster grew more excited—it seemed as 
if something very strange must be happen¬ 
ing. 

Drawing their coat collars up, they stepped 
out into the storm after Billy—Shorty, Rog¬ 
er, Phil. 

“It’s an automobile!” cried Shorty. 

“Somebody’s yelling!” said Roger. 

“Listen!” insisted Billy. 

But Buster’s voice drowned out all other 
sounds. 

“Let the dog loose!” commanded Roger. 

“Go on, let him loose!” echoed Shorty. 

“Don’t you do it!” Phil contradicted. 
“Something might happen to him!” 

“I know what I’m going to do, you!” said 
Billy. “Nobody need tell me! This is my 
place! Buster and I are here to see to things! 
If anything’s happening down there, Buster 
and I go down and find out about it! Do you 
suppose my dad would be afraid, if any¬ 
body needed help? I’m going down there to 
see what’s up, fellows! You can go on back 
into the house!” 

“It’s sort of wet,” Phil suggested weakly. 

“You don’t need to make trouble for your¬ 
self!” said Roger. 

“Oh, you guys go on back,” sniffed Shorty. 
“You can telephone the police, if anything 

176 


should happen. Come along, Buster, old 
man! Here, Billy, I’ll take hold of the other 
side of his collar. Come on!” 

It was dark going down the hill. Billy and 
Shorty could scarcely distinguish the fa¬ 
miliar outlines of grass and bushes upon the 
slope. Buster tugged at his collar, pulling 
the boys after him. 

There was no light at the foot of the hill 
now. Voices could be heard—excited talk. 
The boys halted. “Quiet, Buster!” ordered 
Billy. Then he called, “Hey, what are you 
doing down there?” 

Buster growled. 

“What’s up?” cried Shorty. 

“We’re ditched! Got any light?” a man’s 
deep voice answered. “Is there a house any¬ 
where near? Don’t know where in thunder 
I am!” 

“Anybody hurt?” called Billy. 

“Came near it! Can you get a lantern?” 

“Look out, Buster! Be quiet! It’s all 
right!” Billy cried. “We’ll get one!” He 
turned to Shorty. 

“You go an’ get it, Shorty.” They had 
walked on and were now near the dark bulk 
of a big open touring car. There was a woman 
inside. A little child was crying. 

The dark, heavy form of a man loomed 
177 


up in the gloom. “Where’s the house?” he 
demanded. “Guess you’ll have to take us in 
over night. No getting out of this without 
help. We’re soaked through! Got off the 
right road, I guess. Where are we anyway? 
Are we anywhere near Reilly?” 

Shorty laughed. “’Bout’s near as the 
moon,” he said. “I don’t know where the 
lantern is, Billy,” he expostulated. 

“You go an’ get it,” the man exclaimed, 
coming over to Billy. “Ask your folks if they 
can take my wife and me—it’ll do if we can 
just get shelter. Hurry, boy!” 

Billy hesitated. “Guess you’d better come 
along with us,” he said. “The folks aren’t 
home; I’m the one that’s lookin’ after the 
place—me and the gang are up there. 
’Course I don’t know who I’m takin’ in,” he 
added, “but my Dad never would turn any¬ 
body down if he needed help. You can have 
my room. It’s all right, Buster. Stop!” 

The man took the carriage rug and two 
bags from the car. His wife carried the child 
who had stopped crying. Billy with Shorty 
and Buster led the way toward the house. 

They walked on in the wind. They came to 
the kitchen porch where the gang drew back, 
staring, open-mouthed. 

“Their car ran into a ditch,” explained 
178 


Billy briefly. “They want a lantern—can you 
find it?” He took a candle from the high 
old-fashioned mantel shelf under which the 
modern range had been placed. “I’ll show 
you the room,” he said to the woman. Her 
dark ulster was dripping. 

“Thank you so much,” she murmured. 
“The baby’s very cross. I hope I can get him 
to sleep.” 

The gang went for the lantern. Shorty 
arranged chairs in front of the stove where 
the rug could be dried. The man threw his 
coat over the rug. Then he stood looking 
about the place curiously. Shorty watched 
him. His eyes rested on the old chimney piece 
with its high shelf, upon the comer cup¬ 
board, the cellar door close by. He seemed 
to have forgotten Shorty altogether, so in¬ 
tent was he on his surroundings. 

The gang came back, and after that went 
to the barn to hunt further. And then Billy 
returned. 

“Maybe it’s down cellar. I’ll go and look 
for the lantern. Perhaps I can find it!” Billy 
exclaimed. He went to the cellar door. 
Shorty followed him. 

At the foot of the stairs, the door fast be¬ 
hind them, Billy paused. “I had to take ’em 
in, Shorty, didn’t I?” he asked. “You couldn’t 
179 


turn a woman away with a baby. I guess 
they’re not crooks. He seems all right. I’m 
sure Dad would never have said ‘No!’ A lot 
of old junk was brought in here just before 
Dad left. It came in from the shed where it 
was stored. Dad sold the stuff. Perhaps the 
lantern’s back of it on that hook.” 

They did not find it. 

“When I was alone there—that man sure 
acted queer,” Shorty answered. “He looked 
around at everything mighty sharp. If he 
wasn’t on the level and knew where any¬ 
thing was in the place, he could’ve fixed it up 
all right like this!” 

Billy sniffed. “He told a straight story,” 
he insisted. “He got off the road—going to 
Reilly. That’s at least twenty miles from 
Hampton. It was easy to do without lights 
when his batteries gave out.” 

“Hope so,” returned Shorty. “He looks 
funny to me. Did you see his hand?” 

“What’d you expect? ’Course it was 
dirty!” 

Neither was the lantern hidden in the dark 
behind the stairs. “Honest, now, Short—no 
kidding! They’re on the level. They’re no 
crooks. What was the matter with his 
hand?” 

“You can look for yourself,” Shorty 
180 


snapped. “If you don’t think of something 
then—well, you needn’t. There’s the lan¬ 
tern. There it is back of the funny old desk! 
Queer place to have a desk—in the cellar!” 

“Dad put that stuff here last week,” said 
Billy. “The second-hand man in Palen was 
going to call for it. It was some stuff that 
used to be out in the shed.” 

“Might have belonged to that queer old 
man,” suggested Shorty. He began examin¬ 
ing it, pulling down the lid, drawing out its 
drawers. 

“Oh, my Dad’s been all over it,” said Billy. 
“He’d have found anything if it was there!” 
He lit the lantern and then came over to 
where Shorty poked through the pigeon¬ 
holes. “Come on!” 

“Wait a minute!” 

“Oh, come along, you!” 

Shorty reluctantly slammed the lid of the 
queer old secretary. “Nothing doing,” he 
said. 

“Course not—that was Granddaddy’s desk. 
Dad knows all about it.” 

Shorty followed Billy. “You look at his 
hand,” he whispered before Billy opened the 
kitchen door. 

As the stranger took the lantern, Billy saw 
his hand. As Short had intimated, it was 
181 


queer. It was tattooed in blue marking's—a 
ship with a star over it. 

The man saw Billy’s surprised look. “I ran 
away to sea,” he said, turning toward the 
door. “That's where I got that! Maybe you 
would be interested to know that I’ve 
dropped right into the very house where I 
used to live when I was a lad. I never knew 
till I’d come inside. Some changes—I 
haven’t seen the place for over twenty years! 
That comes of getting off the road in a storm 
—batteries all gave out. Well, I must go fix 
her up, for the storm’s going down.” The 
door slammed after him. 

“By Jiminy!” exclaimed Shorty. “Sup¬ 
posing he does look around for his father’s 
box of money?” 

“I suppose he’d have a right to it, if he 
came on it,” mused Billy. “Maybe he might 
know about it—maybe he mightn’t. He was 
away when all that happened.” 

Roger came yawning into the room. 
“Say!” he cried. “The fellows couldn’t find 
that lantern.” 

“Where are they?” 

“Turned in upstairs. Some of them are in 
the attic. What’s up?” 

“We’ve got somebody here,” Billy whis¬ 
pered. “It’s the man my Dad was going to 

182 


see after he’d seen the lawyer—old Wheel¬ 
er’s son!” 

“Not him!” 

Billy nodded. “It must be.” 

“Whew! What’re you goin’ to do about 
it?” 

“Nothin’ anybody can do now,” returned 
Billy, “except get him out of the house in 
the morning. There’s no treasure up there 
in my room. The only thing I think much 
about is my Grandfather Hudson’s old bed 
with those funny round knobby posts. He 
can’t go off with that. We’ll just watch and 
when he’s gone we’ll look around here. Now, 
you and Mark can go up into the attic. 
There’s a bed up there. Shorty can have the 
dining room couch, and Buster’n I’ll be the 
ones to stay here where we can look after 
things an’ know what’s going on. My, aren’t 
you tired? It’s almost two o’clock in the 
morning!” 

“All right! I’ll turn in,” Roger yawned. 
“If you don’t wake me up in the morning, I’ll 
sleep till nobody knows when. Be sure to 
wake me, won’t you?” 

“I’ll hang around till he comes back and 
goes to bed,” said Shorty. “What’s that?” 

Billy cocked his ear. “Up in my room, 
something’s tumbled down somewhere!” 

183 


“Suppose she’s doing anything funny?” 

“What could she do?” 

They were on the stairs, listening. 

“Better go and see,” Billy cried. “I’ll just 
go ask what’s up an’ take a peek.” 

Shorty ran up the stairs behind him. Billy 
knocked at the door. “Anything the mat¬ 
ter?” he inquired in his most polite manner. 
“I heard something fall—did the baby tum¬ 
ble?” 

Shorty gave him a poke in the ribs. He 
chuckled. “Gee,” he whispered, “one on you! 
A baby making a noise like that! That 
wasn’t any baby!” 

“Of course not,” Billy whispered back. 
“Sh!” 

The door opened. 

The woman had taken off her long cloak 
and wore a brown dress. She was smiling as 
she held the door open. “No, nothing’s the 
matter,” she said. 

“I thought I heard something fall,” Billy 
excused himself. 

“Yes,” she replied, with a gesture that 
took in the old four-poster with its round 
knobs atop each post, “the baby took a fancy 
for the big balls, as he calls them. He’s 
strong for a three-year-old. He stood right 
up when I was not looking and managed to 
184 


unscrew one of the heavy tops. That’s what 
fell.” 

Surprise flashed over Billy’s face. “Why—” 
he began. Then he stopped short. 

“Maybe you’ll screw it tight again,” she 
suggested. “I will give the baby something 
else to think about while you do it. He’s go¬ 
ing to cry if he is not allowed to play with it.” 

She picked up the baby together with his 
toy dog. And she carried them off to the 
further side of the room and began playing 
with the baby to divert him. 

Billy examined the ball-like top of the bed 
post. 

Shorty, standing just outside in the hall, 
saw him take the round ornament and ex¬ 
amine it. He seemed, for a moment, intent 
on looking inside the bed post. The mother 
was intent upon the child. 

Suddenly Billy bent forward. “Short,” he 
called. 

Shorty came quickly. 

“Look here,” whispered Billy under his 
breath. “Don’t let her see you—” He put 
his hand into the lower opening in the bed 
post where there was a kind of round hiding 
place and drew out a strange old-fashioned 
watch and chain. It was wrapped in a piece 
of yellowed paper that had writing on it. He 
185 


gave Shorty a quick surprised look. “Here 
it goes back,” he called aloud toward the 
further end of the room to the woman. “I’ll 
bet that ball top can’t come off again!” 

She thanked him. 

Billy shut the door carefully. He and 
Shorty went down the hallway in a kind of 
daze, the watch in Billy’s pocket, safe. Com¬ 
ing downstairs, they met the man returning 
from his car. They said, “Good-night.” 

In the kitchen, Billy locked the door. Then 
he took the watch and paper from his pocket 
and bent close to the lamp while Shorty 
hung over him excitedly. “We sure found 
something,” said Billy. “Funny, I always 
thought those posts were turned solid. It 
must have been a hiding place for jewels! 
Let’s see the writing.” He tried to decipher 
it. “Can you make it out, Short? Look! 
It’s Grandfather Cory’s writing. I’ve seen 
it in a book he gave Dad.” 

Shorty puzzled over it. “I have it,” he ex¬ 
claimed. “I think I have it. It says, ‘ Look 
in the secret compartment and give what 
you find to Thomas.’ ” 

“My!’ exclaimed Shorty. “Where’s there 
any secret compartment? Do you suppose 
that means our treasure?” 

“It might be that Grandfather Cory’s 
186 


friend did leave him that box of money—” 
mused Billy. “It seems to go with that scrap 
of paper. What say we wake up the gang 
and show this to ’em?” 

“Awfully late,” said Shorty. “I don’t be¬ 
lieve anything’d ever wake ’em up! And, 
anyhow, we couldn’t go knocking around 
with those people upstairs. They’d catch on 
—a bunch of us like that, looking all over 
for a secret compartment. We’ve got to wait 
till those people go and lie low till we get ’em 
out of here.” 

“Well,” Billy said, “what gets me is where 
there is a secret compartment—or whether 
or not it’s here now! The house has been 
done over. A secret compartment might be 
a panel that’d been sealed up! Who’s going 
to get at it unless some baby comes and 
knocks into it the way that little boy up¬ 
stairs did? We never knew about that hiding 
place in the bed post! Mom told me the posts 
were turned solid. Dad couldn’t have known 
about it!” 

“Well, maybe it was luck you took into 
the house when you let that baby in,” 
grinned Shorty. 

“You couldn’t’ve let him stay out in that 
storm,” retorted Billy. “Nobody that had a 
home would do that!” 

187 


“I can’t think where there’d be any secret 
compartments,” Shorty said. “We can’t hunt 
any more now. Come on to bed. Wait till 
they go!” 

“Pshaw! Let’s think! I’m not sleepy!” 
Billy exclaimed. “Say, Shorty, how about 
that old secretary down cellar?” 

“You said your Dad had been all through 
it.” 

“Well, he didn’t know about the jewel¬ 
hiding-place in the bed post—” 

Shorty thought. 

“We’d better look now,” Billy urged. “Ev¬ 
erybody’s asleep! They might hang around 
tomorrow or maybe snoop around. Besides 
that, the man down in Palen might come to 
get that old junk Dad sold him. It’d have to 
go—” He found a flashlight. “Lucky I didn’t 
remember this when that man asked for the 
lantern,” he said. “I’d have given it to him 
to use.” They went carefully down cellar. 
Buster was shut out-of-doors. 

“Funny—the secret places they used to 
have to put things,” Shorty mused. 

“They had to—didn’t have safes! Hope we 
find that compartment.” 

“Gee! Hope we do.” 

The two stood before the old secretary. It 
was dark in the cellar. Outside it seemed as 


188 


if the storm had abated, but it certainly was 
queer down cellar at that time of night— 
and hunting for a mysterious something 
called a secret compartment! 

“I didn’t see anything when I looked at 
it,” explained Shorty. 

“Well, I could look all day—I don’t see 
anything.” Billy nodded. 

“Let’s take out the drawers and look be¬ 
hind ’em.” 

But there was nothing there. 

Carefully Billy felt all over inside the 
desk. “N. G.!” he exclaimed, bringing out 
his hand dirty with the thick dust of many 
years’ storage in the shed. 

Below the top that let down was a closet 
for odds and ends. “I looked there, too,” 
said Shorty. “Nothing doing there.” 

Billy felt it over. Shorty seemed right. 

The two sat down upon an inverted wooden 
box and looked at the secretary. “It looks 
as if it might have a secret place,” Billy said, 
thoughtfully. “Dad told me Grandfather 
Cory once used this desk. Funny! Do you 
suppose we could get that rubbish out of the 
way and look at it from the side? There might 
be some concealed compartment at the side.” 

“Can you tell by rapping the wood?” asked 
Shorty. 


189 


But they could not tell, though they rapped 
many places and poked many others. 

“Press down here.” 

“It’s no good!” 

“Sometimes you pull ’em out, I think.” 

The two pulled at the old desk where it 
seemed to offer anything to pull. 

“Nothing doing!” 

“Come on up to bed!” 

“No, sir! You run along. I’m seeing this 
through,” Billy declared. “I haven’t finished 
with it yet. I’m going to feel all over it, and 
go all over every inch of it!” He ran his 
thumb under the front opening where there 
was simply no suggestion of anything at all 
but a narrow panel that seemed the base of 
the desk. “I’ll bet there’s something here,” 
he cried. “Look! It might be, Short!” 

“It might.” 

There was no way to pull. There might be 
a hidden spring somewhere. The panel was 
about ten inches high. It took in the entire 
baseboard around the desk. It might be only 
that. 

Suddenly, under Billy’s finger —something 
moved! The two boys started back in aston¬ 
ishment. Before them, there had opened out 
a real secret compartment! The panel had 
let down! 


190 


Billy grasped the flash and bent over it. 
“Gee Whittaker!” he ejaculated. “Gee Whit¬ 
taker! Did you ever?” 

There, in the compartment, stood a large 
black box about eighteen inches long. Upon 
the top a long envelope had been placed. 
There was nothing else there! 

Billy drew out the box and the envelope. 
The envelope was sealed. It was directed 
to Dad. The box had a small key. It was 
heavy—that box! Might be the very money 
box they had hoped to find! They turned the 
key and lifted the lid—there lay coins— 
strange coins —the box was full of them! 
It was the treasure! 

“Say, wouldn’t the gang be upset if they 
thought we’d gone and found it all alone?” 

“Yea-a—but they wanted to go to sleep 
and we—we kept at it!” 

“What’ll they say when they know?” 

“They’ll wish they had stayed awake, I’ll 
bet!” 

The two sat gloating over the treasure. 

“Queer-looking money,” said Shorty. 
“What’ll you do with it?” 

“Don’t know. If it really belongs to us, 
maybe we can buy back the home! I’d hate 
to lose this old place—I don’t want to go off 
and leave you and the gang. No fun living 
191 


in a city,” sighed Billy. “This ought to be¬ 
long to you and me —we found it.” Billy had 
been turning over in his hands the sealed 
envelope that was addressed to Dad. “I 
can’t open it,” he said. “That’s Dad’s busi¬ 
ness.” 

“Looks as if it might be a legal document,” 
mused Shorty. “Do you suppose it could have 
been a will that your grandfather made later 
than that other?” 

“Might be! You never can tell,” mused 
Billy. “Gee! What’s that? Buster’s bark¬ 
ing fit to kill! You don’t suppose somebody 
else’s gone an’ gotten ditched?” He caught 
up the box and the envelope. He stopped 
short. “The safest place for these is right 
here,” he decided. And he put them back and 
closed the panel. The two rushed upstairs. 
Now, surely, there was something coming up 
the driveway! It was a car honking. Buster 
barked wildly around it. It stopped. 

Billy and Shorty peered into the night. 
The storm had cleared. The moon was out. 
By its light who should get down from the 
car but Mom! Sure, Mom! Of all things at 
this time of night—Mom! 

Billy rushed to the door shouting, “Moth¬ 
er! Mother!” He swung the door wide and 
ran into her arms. “How did you get back?” 

192 


She laughed. Uncle Ned came into the 
room. “She came back with me in my car,” 
he laughed. “There was no train—and she 
wanted to get back right away after seeing 
the lawyer. You aren’t going to feel bad 
about having to leave this place, are you, 
Billy? It’s going to go to that man—that’s 
all legal. The will stands.” 

“Say! Say!” panted Billy in his excite¬ 
ment. “Mom! Listen! He’s upstairs in my 
room—that man is—now!” He laughed 
wildly. “He was ditched with his car. I was 
looking after things and I ran out to see 
what was up—and he and his wife an’ their 
baby came up here. Then, listen, Mom! That 
baby got hold of the big ball on top of my 
bed post—the one at the top of the bed—I 
mean the head—see! It—it unscrewed. I 
heard it fall on the floor an’ went up—and 
what did I find but a hiding place under the 
knob and this watch and this paper!” He 
held them out, jumping about wildly, know¬ 
ing nothing that he did. 

Uncle Ned looked at them, astonished. 
“My father’s writing, Anne,” he said, turn¬ 
ing to Mom. “He must have put that there 
in his illness. Mother left us shortly after. 
It was meant for her to find.” 

“But that’s not all,” gasped Shorty. “We 

193 


found—the secret compartment—yes, we 
did—Billy and I—we found it! There’s a 
box of money—and a queer envelope, too!” 

“Mom! Mom! Come on down and see it,” 
cried Billy. “Come along! Oh, I’m so glad 
you came home just now!” 

“Oh, Billy, I couldn’t wait to get back,” 
declared Mother. “But I know you’ve taken 
care of everything splendidly—and, think, 
dear, of this! It’s wonderful!” 

They filed down to the old desk. Billy 
pressed the panel. It opened. He drew out 
the box and the envelope. Mother caught 
her breath! 

Uncle Ned took the things. “His old box 
of coins!” he said. “And it looks like a will!” 
His face showed his astonishment as he slit 
the envelope. “A later will,” he announced. 
“I always said there was one, Anne!” 

“Grandfather left it for Dad,” said Uncle 
Ned. “We never found it, though we’d heard 
the story. The collection is very valuable. 
Old Mr. Wheeler loved your grandfather. 
He said he wanted the coins to be his. Now, 
they are Dad’s, but I think he’ll want you to 
have them—you found them!” 

It seemed too good to be true—home real¬ 
ly theirs! And a treasure too! 

Uncle Ned led the way upstairs. Finally 

194 


everybody was in bed. It was hard to go to 
sleep. 

Billy woke at sunrise. He jumped softly 
out of bed. “Surprise Mom!” he said to him¬ 
self. He splashed in the basin and hurried 
downstairs where the cat slept, curled up in 
Mother’s red rocker. How different every¬ 
thing looked now that Mother was home! It 
wasn’t lonely any more! And they were not 
going to give up their home. It was theirs! 
He smiled at the thought of last night and 
whistled softly. Buster came, wagging his 
good-morning. 

Billy filled the coal hod—that funny old 
secretary looked at him through the gray¬ 
ness of the cellar. He filled the stove; he 
fixed the drafts; he put the cereal on to cook 
in the double boiler. 

A footfall on the stairs! It was Mr. 
Wheeler come down to telephone for help 
at the garage. “Family come home last 
night?” he asked. 

“Mother and Uncle Ned,” Billy explained. 
“Guess you were going to meet my Dad in 
Hampton. Well, maybe you’d like to know 
—last night—just luck—Short and I found 
a later will. Uncle Ned says it changes ev¬ 
erything—I hope you don’t feel bad. Course 
I want to keep my home!” 

195 


Mr. Wheeler paused on his way to the 
telephone. He looked astonished. But he 
looked amused also. “Boy,” he said. “I might 
as well tell you—I never wanted this place. 
My home suits me, and I’m glad to have 
things settled.” He turned to the telephone. 
“Have to go down to the car now.” 

Mother came downstairs. She laughed 
happily at Billy’s surprise. “Still looking?” 
she said. 

“Guess the gang had better wake up an’ 
hear the news,” answered Billy. He was 
above in a jiffy. “Wake up!” he cried. “Short 
an’ I found that treasure!” 

“Gosh!—you didn’t!” came a chorus of 
voices. 

Fatty and the rest of the bunch came run¬ 
ning from the attic. “What’s the row?” they 
asked. 

“What’ll you do with the treasure?” they 
demanded. “Old coins like that—must be 
valuable!” 

“Hooray!” squealed Beany. “Hooray for 
Billy!” 

“Say we celebrate with a hike up to Round 
Top?” 

Mother came down the hall and paused at 
the open door. “Hooray!” she cried. “Hoo¬ 
ray for the treasure hunters!” 

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